


Fool Me Once

by selwyn



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Multi, Murder, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 18:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13642167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selwyn/pseuds/selwyn
Summary: Felix survives the fall. Locus leaves Chorus.One way or another, though, they’re still going find each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr for this is contraloci.tumblr.com and my Twitter is selwynsalt. Find updates there.

Felix awoke to throbbing agony. It wasn’t like the pain of a broken bone, or the ache of bruises. It was bone-deep. He tasted blood on his lips and wondered, for a grim moment, if he was bleeding out and was just too numb to realize it.

Trying to move proved his fears were unfounded.

Pain shot up his spine like a bolt of lightning. He jerked where he lay and the crumple of leaves and undergrowth told him where he was – the jungle floor. If he strained past the red veil of pain, then he could hear jungle birds crooning.

He stopped trying to move. Felix concentrated on breathing instead. He focused on cataloguing his surroundings with sound and smell. He tried to reign the pain in long enough to understand why he was here, and why Locus wasn’t.

_Locus._

Thinking about him sent a fresh wave of pain, but it wasn’t physical this time. It was a bitter, angry pain, contaminated by betrayed trust. Felix pushed himself into the rage and let it give him the motivation to sit up.

It felt as if someone had lit a fire under him. It felt like being stabbed. It was having his arms broken, over and over again, but Felix spitefully ignored the agonized protests of his body. He sat up, breathing hard.

 _Locus,_ he thought. _Locus. Locus._ Every iteration of his name made a new thought surface.

_“I’m doing this for me.” “No more killing.” “I’m done.”_

“Y-You… fucking… _motherfucker,”_ Felix hissed to himself. He coughed after he spoke, and his chest flared with white-hot pain. He couldn’t tell what from. A broken rib? A collapsed lung? He would have prodded his chest to see, but his arms felt like inert sacks of meat.

Felix cracked open his eyes after intense effort. It hurt – his eyelashes felt glued together. The light was blinding and he had to close them immediately. White sunbursts lingered behind his eyelids.

He slowly reached up, feeling as if his bones were grinding into dust, but his hands met his helmet visor. He scrabbled at the pressure seals around his neck until he could pull the helmet off. The scrubbed recycled air of the helmet was replaced by humidity.

Felix picked at his eyes until he unstuck whatever was on them. The second time he opened them, he looked down, away from the light, and saw the tiny flakes of blood on his fingertips. Blood - it must’ve flowed down from an injury and dried around his eyes.

Getting his eyes accustomed to the light took longer than he liked. But Felix was patient. He observed himself instead. His armor was in one piece, which was probably the only reason he survived that fall in the first place. He also noticed that he was in a ring of light.

Neck straining, he looked up.

The foliage had a neat hole punched through it, letting the light in undisturbed. It took effort to remember that he was the reason for it.

He didn’t know how long he sat there for. It could have been hours. It could have been minutes. His mind drifted in a fog of pain and rattled memories. But Felix knew he had to move if he wanted to survive. Giving up now, here, after going through so much… was unacceptable.

Locus would get what was coming to him eventually. But not yet. Right now, Felix needed a doctor. He reached for his helmet to put it back on.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

Finding a doctor was easier said than done. He had to be able to move first.

His current catalogue of injuries was growing longer by the second. He had at least two cracked ribs. His left wrist was broken. His left ankle was sprained. At least two fingers were broken, and that was an optimistic estimate. His entire body probably looked like Picasso’s blue period, and he was pretty sure he was concussed.

The first time Felix tried to stand, he damn near fell over and expired on the way. The second time around, he had the sense to lean against a tree.

The possibility of death was close, but Felix refused to entertain it. He wouldn’t survive a fall from that high just to die like a chump _here._ He had too much left to do. He had an ex-partner to find and kill.

Thinking about killing Locus gave him something else to concentrate on. Felix stumbled forward, imagining Locus and his stupid face, imagining his knife stabbed through his traitorous throat. Other people focused on family and friends to survive the impossible.

Felix? He focused on _revenge._

He pushed tree-to-tree, pausing every few steps to catch his breath, and made steady progress from the clearing. In between thoughts of murdering Locus, he devised a plan.

 _One._ He needed to find a doctor. _Two._ He needed to find shelter and food. _Three._ He needed to resupply. _Four._ He needed to get off this stupid _fucking_ planet. _Five._ He needed to kill Locus and piss on his corpse.

It was an indeterminable amount of time later that Felix realized he had no fucking clue where he was going. He had been so focused on _moving,_ that he’d forgotten about _where._

_Fucking idiot._

It took him a few more minutes to realize that his HUD wasn’t working. There were no compass directions, no scans of the terrain, not even the time. He reached up and slapped at it, ignoring the flare of pain that resulted each time.

Static fuzzed across his eyes. “Work, dammit,” Felix muttered, hitting his helmet again to jar the circuits inside into place. More static fizzled until, at last, the soft orange of his HUD settled into place.

He found his coordinates then turned off his satellite triangulation. He didn’t need any chucklefucks to get clever and locate him in the process. Then he scrolled through his registry for logs of the refugee camps that were scattered all over Chorus. Neither Fed nor Republic, they were as neutral as anyone could be in this planet-sized conflict.

If there was anyone who could help him, they would be in one of those camps.

The amount of time it took to determine the best camp was longer than he would have liked. Felix’s vision kept swimming. Coordinate numbers threatened to slip out of his brain like water from a sieve. He forgot what he was doing two times before he managed to hold onto his train of thought.

 _Camp 10-B,_ read his HUD. It was approximately five kilometers south-west of his current position and sizeable enough to host a population of three thousand people.

 _Five kilometers._ On a normal day, that would be just under half of his usual patrol circuit. Now, it felt like the other side of the planet.

Felix leaned against his tree, whole body aching. He licked his lips and one of the cracks finally split open. Fresh blood trickled into his mouth.

God, he was hungry. And _thirsty._ He wanted to lay down and go to sleep, possibly forever.

Felix closed his eyes. He conjured up images of the Feds, the rebels, the fucking sims, the Freelancers, but they couldn’t kindle the right anger for him. They might have been the ones to blow him off the damn tower, but they weren’t the ones who _let_ it happen.

A different face swam into his mind’s eye. It was Locus. He was without his helmet for once, and had on his usual expression of stunted emotional constipation. Felix thought about his dumb fucking scar, his stupid fucking hair. He thought about the sound of his breathing when he was lining up a shot. He thought about everything that made Locus _Locus,_ and he felt the rage inside him erupt like a volcano.

 _Fuck_ Locus. Felix wasn’t going to die here. He was going to crawl out of this shitty jungle and get healed. He was going to beat the odds. He was going to _survive._

And then he was going to _kill_ that son of a bitch.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

The sun had nearly set by the time Felix crawled to Camp 10-B. He navigated by the dying ray’s meager illumination until the evening lights of the camp switched on. Then he used the yellow lights to guide him onward.

The closer he got to the camp, the further it seemed. The last couple hundred meters felt longer than the entire journey combined, and Felix was almost certain that if he collapsed there, he would damn well die. There were no trees to lean on this close to the camp, so he was reduced to crawling like a beggar. His concussion actually helped with this. His pride felt too distant to be concerned over when his head felt like it was full of cotton.

Felix reached the outskirts of the camp after an eternity of crawling. He found the nearest light source and collapsed under it, too weak to continue. Hopefully, someone would find him and prove that this planet actually had useful people on it.

He lay there, concentrating on breathing. His head swam more until Felix wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He felt something tapping near his head, but he couldn’t tell what it was.

He blacked out to the feeling of someone rolling him over.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I got a fucking raise at work and I’m so happy that I’ll drop the chapter that I was planning on uploading tomorrow.

Ch. 2

_A week later…_

_Thwip._

The deer Locus had been aiming at keeled over, dying before it could even scream. It crumpled into the undergrowth before it could alert its neighbors of the hunter just beyond the grazing grove.

Locus reloaded his crossbow slowly, eyes on the rest of the deer. They meandered through the grass, eating peacefully. He picked a buck with an impressive rack of horns from the herd and took aim again.

_Thwip._

A bolt through the eye, just like the buck before it. This one’s death was less discreet, however, and the other deer looked up, startled, before they immediately fled. Locus let them go. He only needed two.

Before he got up to secure his kills, Locus swept his sights over the clearing again. No enemies were sighted. He hadn’t sighted any since he escaped the tower.

Reassured, Locus slipped out of the shadows of his hiding place and loped down the clearing to where the first buck fell. He pulled the bolt from its eye, wiped the blood off on the grass, and bagged it. The deer here were small – this one wouldn’t even reach his waist – so hefting it up was easy.

Locus found the other one and bagged it too. Before he secured his bounty, he checked his crossbow. It was near his elbow, ready to be swung up and shot at a moment’s notice, and fully loaded. The sword was on him too, but hidden. He didn’t need anyone seeing it and connecting the dots, but leaving it felt wrong.

Locus pulled down the bandana covering the lower half of his face along with his oxygen mask. The heavy plastic and metal contraption let him wander around Melody without suffocating, but it also kept in heat far too well. Holding his breath, he wiped sweat off the bridge of his nose and let the breeze cool his face down. Then he pulled it all back into place.

The two bucks went over Locus’ shoulders. The trek back was quiet – peaceful, some might say.

Locus hated the quiet. He worked best in it, but the silence let his thoughts run amok. Without a gun to focus on, his thoughts were even less welcome.

He looked up to watch the birds instead. Melody was farther from the sun than Chorus, but it still had jungles. The refugee colonist fleeing the civil war on their home had settled on the warmest, wettest parts of the neighboring planet. Locus thought it was illogical, but he wasn’t complaining either.

The birds here were unafraid of humans. They carried on their business noisily, hopped from branch to branch, flapped their wings, and emitted so much sound that the jungle was forced to take notice of them. A flash of orange dashed through the foliage and Locus stiffened. Relaxed.

_Felix isn’t here._

He had to remind himself of that fact whenever he sank back into old patterns. Felix wasn’t here to watch his back. He wasn’t here to distract people from Locus, or handle his conversations for him. He was dead on Chorus, because Locus left him there.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

The refugee colony he stayed at stylized itself _The Town of Wode._ It was an ambitious name for a place that had more tents than it had buildings, but the people were trying. It was an ambitious name for a place that had more tents than it had buildings, but the people were trying. Locus pulled off his mask once he passed through the town’s environmental shields that kept the air inside breathable.

“Here,” Locus grunted, dropping off his haul at the communal mess. The two bucks thumped down on the metal countertop.

“Oh – Sam! You’re already here.” Sweet smiled at him from the other side of the countertop, his typical clipboard in hand, and Locus averted his eyes. “I know you’re usually early with your contribution, but eight in the morning is pretty early for two deer, isn’t it?”

“I like to get it out of the way.”

“And we’re all thankful for that,” Sweet said. He opened the bags delicately, peered in, and then looked away with a soft noise. “Ah – Murk! Bradley! We’ve got two deer for the pot, get it to the kitchens!”

Murk poked her head out of the door leading to the kitchens, gave them both a look, nodded, and disappeared back in. A few seconds later, she walked out with Bradley on her heels. Murk took a bag and Bradley took the other, both giving Locus nods of acknowledgment.

“Well, that’ll be tallied _off,”_ Sweet said, making a note on his clipboard. “So what’s the plan for the rest of the day, big guy?”

Locus thought about just walking away. But Sweet’s smile demanded an answer, and people – _normal people_ – didn’t leave conversations hanging. “I have to go to the hospital. Then I might check in with the scouts,” he offered, “and make sure the jungle-side barricades are holding up. See if there are any jobs that need doing.”

“So, more _work.”_

“Yes.”

Sweet held his hands up. “I don’t mean that as a bad thing, of course! I’m just saying – we’re all glad you came here to help us like this. It’s… really great of you.”

“Thanks.”

“But, y’know, working all the time isn’t very healthy.”

Locus distantly recalled Dr. Joanes, the colony’s hospital director, telling him the same thing. He recalled Dr. Wayne, the hospital’s psychiatrist, also telling him the same. “Yeah,” he grunted.

“So if you’re looking for anything to _do…_ or someone to relax with…”

Locus blinked. Sweet’s expectant expression told him he was missing something, but it took the rusty gears of his brain a few seconds to process _what._ The answer came up but it felt wrong enough that he doubted it. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I’m asking you out on a date, Sam.” Sweet leaned forward, making his curly hair fall into his eyes.

“Oh.”

 _Shit._ Locus glanced to the side, waiting for Felix to dig an elbow into his ribs and then slide in, all smooth oil and grease, and ply the situation into something more comfortable. When he didn’t appear, Locus had to close his eyes and remind himself.

_Felix is **dead.**_

“I’m… sorry,” he said. Apologies still felt stilted. He couldn’t ever be sure if they were sincere enough. “I’m not really…”

“Not gay?” Sweet offered, his smile dropping a little. “It’s alright. I felt like it was worth a try.”

 _That isn’t the problem,_ Locus thought, but he didn’t correct him. “Sorry,” he repeated, “I’ll go now.”

“Alright. See you tomorrow, Sam!”

He retreated from the mess hall before the situation could grow anymore awkward. Locus thought he would grow used to it eventually, but then again, it had only been a week since he fled Chorus. Walking around without his armor on felt naked, but it was the only way he could engender trust here. They weren’t war-torn soldiers looking for help. They were people trying to a build a new life. That kind didn’t exactly welcome mercenaries. His armor had to stay on his ship for now, no matter how exposed he felt without it.

Wode’s hospital was a modest set-up just over three stories tall. Locus circled the on-going construction at the back of the building and walked inside. “Hello,” he said, nodding at Bagel, the nurse who manned the front. “I’m here for my appointment with Dr. Joanes.”

“Hey, Sam,” Bagel chirped, wiggling her fingers at him. “Yeah, I’ve been expecting you – you’re the first one of the day. Uh, Dr. Joanes is waiting for you in her office, just walk on in.”

“Thank you.”

Joanes’ office was on the first floor – made it easier to access, she’d explained – and Locus found it easily. “Doctor,” he said in greeting, startling the woman at her desk.

“Sam!” she gasped, her hand on her chest, shoulders hitched high, and Locus froze to let her get used to him.

“Sorry,” he said, automatic.

Joanes waved her hand, her surprise melting off her face. “What – no, no, it’s alright. You just startled me. Gosh, we just _need_ to put a bell on you one of these days. You move like a ghost!”

He didn’t have a reply for that. Locus shut the door behind himself. “I’m here for my appointment,” he said quietly.

“Of course. Undress and go to the examining table, I just need to finish this up quickly.”

Joanes tapped out a few more things on her computer as Locus stripped to his underwear. He laid his clothes out on the chair next to the examining table then sat down, crinkling the paper under him. He looked at Joanes to avoid looking at his body, and she met his eyes above her monitor.

“Well, you’re ready,” she said, her fingers pausing. She left her work to walk towards him, pulling her spectacles from her coat pocket as she did. “Alright, let’s see… show me the stitches on your shoulder, please.”

Locus moved obligingly. He bared his neck for her, letting Joanes bend over to peer at the network of stitches on his shoulders, back, and chest. He stared at her shoes as she worked, committing their stitching to memory to ignore how exposed he felt.

“Okay… they’re healing pretty well, I think I can remove this set now. Have you been doing any heavy work lately?”

“Not much.”

“So… you haven’t lifted anything in recent memory? Heavy things, like large loads, guns… animals?”

“…nothing really heavy.”

“Sam.” Joanes’ tone grew firmer and Locus met her eyes. “You’re going to rip your stitches if you’re not careful. I realize that you’re a very good hunter, but please – either take someone _with_ you, or do something else.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Locus murmured. Joanes didn’t look very convinced, but she offered no more argument.

“Lean back. That stomach wound of yours isn’t infected anymore, but I want to keep it covered for now. Are you changing your dressing like I told you?”

“Yes. Twice every day, morning and night, after applying the antibiotic ointment.”

“Well, I suppose you can listen to _one_ order.”

He dipped his head again.

“Okay. The worst’s gone, but I still think you need to dial it back a notch. Do you remember what happened the first day you came here?”

It was an embarrassing memory that he didn’t feel like recalling too closely. “Yes.”

“You broke a rib.”

“Yes, I know.”

“After I _explicitly_ told you that your rib was already cracked and in danger of breaking further.”

“I am acutely aware.”

“Are you?” Joanes muttered. “Well, the good news is that you don’t look like you’re on death’s door.”

Locus caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that hung behind Joanes’ desk. The heavy bruises around his jaw – courtesy of Agent Carolina’s _impressively_ deadly spinning kicks – had faded to an unpleasant yellow color. In another week, they would disappear entirely.

“But you still look like you fell down a building’s worth of stairs. All at once.”

“You’ve told me,” Locus muttered. Joanes stepped around him to grab her surgical scissors for the quick snip his stiches required. “I _am_ taking it easy.”

“Taking it easy is sitting down and watching a movie,” Joanes said. “It’s not proving you are a one-man army for everyone with eyes and ears.”

“I’m not _proving_ it,” he protested.

“Well, you’re certainly doing _something,”_ Joanes whipped around with her tiny surgical scissors in hand. She advanced on him. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t _die_ while doing it.”

She cut one stitch. Locus ignored the pain. “Contributing is important,” he said after a short pause.

“I know. But doing it at a detriment to your health isn’t helping anyone. It actually gives people _more_ work to do.”

Perhaps this was her way of telling him that she was sick of treating him all the time. Locus wouldn’t blame her. He was sick of having to be treated. “I’ll make sure to get out of your hair, doctor,” he said dryly.

“Make sure you do, young man. I’m tired of getting people asking for pictures of you.”

The non-sequitur threw him for a loop. “…what?”

“Nothing, Sam. Nothing. Tilt your head, I can’t see when you’re blocking the light.”

He tilted his head. “Doctor –“

“Any more questions, Sam, and my hand might slip and fatally stab you in the neck.”

“…alright.”

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙


	3. Chapter 3

Ch. 3

This time, Felix didn’t wake up to godless agony. He did, however, wake up to a cuffed wrist.

He rattled it experimentally. It wouldn’t stop him from leaving – not when whoever was responsible didn’t even cuff his _other_ wrist – but being cuffed at all was a bad sign. If he’d crawled all this way only to be _caught_ again… well. Then that would just confirm the existence of a god who _hated_ Felix.

He cracked open his eyes, pleasantly surprised to find the action less painful this time.

Canvas greeted him. Felix blinked up at it, briefly confused, until he realized he was in a tent.

 _Why the fuck,_ he thought, _am I in a tent?_

He sat up – wow, it didn’t even _hurt_ now – and assessed the situation. He was in a bed inside a tent. His wrist was cuffed to the bed frame. His armor was off – and nowhere to be seen – and most importantly, _someone_ had treated his injuries.

Felix lifted up his bedsheets to peer at the bandages wrapped around his chest. They were wrapped snugly in the way only experienced doctors could. He was also buck-ass naked, but that was less important.

So he had made it to the camp.

“…cannot be sure who he is…”

His ears pricked at the words. Someone was outside his tent. Talking about him? Felix leaned a little in their direction, ears straining to catch more.

“...does not prove anything…”

“…when he wakes up…”

“…ask him?”

The snatches of conversation that he caught were frustratingly vague. But Felix was sure that they were talking about him, unless they had another merc in another tent. Footsteps drew nearer and he relaxed, tailoring his expression so that he looked as if he just woke up.

A man pushed aside the tent flap and walked in, his head down. Felix didn’t recognize him. That was a good sign.

The man spoke into a walkie-talkie, still ignorant of Felix. “I _know_ they want to take it apart, but I am also telling them _not_ to. Keep it on lock until Jody comes back, or I will –“

The man glanced up and his words died in his throat. Felix gave him a wave. They stared at each other for a few moments before the man continued, slower this time.

“… I will get back to you. Just hold off until I can come over. I have something else to contend with.”

The walkie-talkie buzzed angrily but the man thumbed it off and cut off the voice on the other end. “You are awake,” he said.

“Looks like I am,” Felix shrugged, examining him. The stranger looked to be about the same height as Felix, but that was where their similarities ended. He was Asian and looked as if he never lifted anything heavier than a textbook in his life; an easy mark. “What happened?”

“You were found on the outskirts of our camp,” said the man, who didn’t come closer. “A couple of our people dragged you in and you were brought in here for care.”

“So you saved me.”

“In a way.”

Felix dipped his head. “Thank you so much,” he said. “Man, I thought I was a goner for sure. Without your help, I would’ve died out there.”

“You can drop the act.”

Ice water trickled down Felix’s spine. His face didn’t shift but his mind raced. Camp 10-B couldn’t have known what he and Locus really were. They’d been _careful_ about contact between the people of Chorus. The neutral refugees couldn’t have known what they were up to –

 _Unless the Feds and the rebels got into contact with them and informed them of us,_ pointed out an annoyingly sensible voice in his head. It sounded like Locus, and Felix immediately squashed it. He wasn’t going to be lectured by a _traitor_ , even one from his own imagination.

He didn’t attempt to play the fool. Instead, Felix leaned back against the bedframe to size up the man. “So you know me.”

“Yes, I do,” the man said. He remained a good distance away from Felix – well out of lunging range. Smart. Not smart enough, considering he’d already let his hand slip. “You’re a mercenary. A murderer.”

“Save me the preaching,” Felix said. “What do you _want?”_

“What makes you think I want anything from you?”

“Uh, the fact that I’m here and no one’s rushed in with guns? The whole ‘lone man’ confrontation style? It’s not that hard.”

The man looked down instead of replying. After a short pause, he turned to pace. “I heard that the war ended.”

Felix did _not_ want to talk about this. But it didn’t seem like the stranger would be persuaded to shut his trap.

“They are sending out calls - asking people to come their coordinates, telling us that the war is over, that it is time to settle peace. People are saying mercenaries – you people – are the real cause of the war.”

“Does this whole conversation have a _point,_ or are you just going to tell me everything I already _know?”_ Felix rattled the cuff around his wrist. He didn’t have anything to pick it with, but he could start working out his hand while the guy was distracted. His wrists were certainly skinny enough, unlike Loc –

Felix shook his head.

“The war took everything from me. It took my work, my life, my family. Sometimes, I wonder why I even bother living.”

“Very dramatic.” Felix received a glare for his comment.

“So you people – someone like _you_ being the cause of this war… I do not believe it. I _refuse_ to. This war – this planet-wide _war_ being carried out by two people is absurd. It is a _lie.”_

“…sure, buddy.” He hadn’t expected the conversation to turn this way, but he wasn’t complaining.

The doctor spun on him and stabbed his finger in his direction. “I did not save your life without reason,” he growled. “I did it because I want something from you. If you are supposed to be some hotshot mercenary, then you must be good at killing things. People.”

Felix blinked. “Is this a _job offer?”_

“It is a _deal.”_ The hand lowered. The glare behind it remained. “Chorus is overrun by criminals. No – not criminals. _Animals._ I want you to exterminate them. In exchange, I will continue to administer medical care and not disclose your true identity… _Felix.”_

He quirked a brow. “How’d you know?” he asked.

“It is obvious,” he retorted. “I recognized your armor. But that is not important. Do you accept my deal?”

The answer was obvious. “Sure thing,” Felix said, offering a one-shouldered shrug. “I kill some people for you, you patch me up and don’t spread my name around. Done deal, though I _do_ like to know the name of my employers before I do anything for them.”

“I am Doctor Inoue. That is all you need to know.”

“Inoue,” Felix repeated. “I can work with that. Got any guns? Kinda need that for field work.”

“You will be adequately supplied,” Inoue said stiffly.

“Good to hear. I like a man of reason.” Felix glanced down at himself. Without the armor to cover his injuries, he looked _bad._ Bandages covered the worst of it, but they couldn’t hide the bruises or the smaller lacerations. “And I’m going to need a little R-n-R before I go out for anything. Hard to shoot with a broken… everything.”

“I am aware. You will have two weeks to recuperate before I expect you to fulfill your end of the deal.”

“Two weeks?” Felix parroted. “Buddy, I’ve got broken bones. Those don’t _heal_ in two weeks.”

“Oh, that is not a concern.” Inoue reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object that he lobbed to Felix.

His eyes narrowed. Then he caught it. It was rectangular and didn’t glow or tick eerily, so it probably wasn’t a bomb. “What’s this?”

“That is a personal healing unit courtesy of the aliens that lived here prior to human occupation. I am told that it speeds up healing processes drastically if you keep it on your person.”

His fingers tightened around it. “Pretty handy stuff, doc.”

“I am told.” Inoue made for the tent flap, clearly done. He paused before he left and looked at Felix over his shoulder. “Consider that the first token of our deal. Heal well, Felix.”

Felix stared Inoue down until he left. Then he looked down at the unit that the doctor had given him. It was white, smooth all over, and lacked any distinctive marks that might have told him more. Meager heat radiated from it.

After a moment’s consideration, Felix pushed the unit between his bandages and laid back down to sleep again. As he lay in bed, however, the only thing that came to him was a question.

Why did a neutral doctor want him to kill criminals?

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙


	4. Chapter 4

Ch. 4

_A week later…_

_“A'rynasea.”_

The little ship immediately zipped out of its hiding place among the stalactites of the cave that Locus parked it in. It hovered in the air before him, humming quietly, and he pressed his palm against its smooth chassis. The ship flashed its lights once in recognition of its owner and a small hatch opened in its side.

Locus grabbed the bar above the opening and swung himself in easily. The hatch closed behind him as the consoles lit up for him. A 3D map of the star system lit up and he took only a cursory glance before tapping his usual coordinates. _Chorus._

 _A'rynasea_ gave him a soft chirp before it shot out of the cave with alien smoothness. He sat down as it dashed out of atmo and pulled out his guns from the underside of the console. The sniper, shotgun, and rifle were all clean – should be, since that was how he left them the last mission – but he disassembled them for another clean anyway. Non-existent dust and grease was rubbed away, and Locus imagined it was his own soul that he was wiping clean.

If only it were that easy.

He rubbed a fingerprint off of the rifle’s stock. _Twelve targets,_ Locus thought, _minor hold-up, should experience little to no difficulty flushing them out. Jungle is available for cover if necessary. No nearby settlements, noise tolerable._

No, he couldn’t clean off his soul. No amount of repentance or remorse could take back what he did. The lives he took as a monster would always remain on the other side. He had to fix this in the only way he was capable of. He’d turned his weapons on the innocent – now, it was time to turn it on those who deserved it.

Had he been a believing man, then he could have thought of it as balancing the cosmic scales.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

Entering and leaving Chorus’ atmo space was still easy. It didn’t have the satellite coverage that it used to, leaving whole patches of dark space where the planet once used to be lit up. _A'rynasea_ settled on a plateau that rose out of the jungle, high enough that no one would run into it, and under cloak so sensors or eyes wouldn’t see it. Locus dropped from the hatch as soon as the ship was settled.

His HUD read out the terrain. The beacon he’d set was ten kilometers away, so he had a small hike before he found his targets. Locus rolled his shoulders and felt the armor respond soothingly.

Everything looked to be in order. Locus crept into the jungle.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

The hold out that his targets hid in wasn’t terribly inspiring. Four metal containers had been lined up in a row, their openings facing the same direction, with small barricades in front of them in semi-circle. There were fences as well, but they were only knee-high. The barbed wire wrapped around them would serve as a deterrent for the local fauna, but it was useless against any human assailants.

 _Not expecting assault,_ Locus decided as he peered into his scope for more details. He sighted two targets sitting around a fire pit, and a third working on the satellite dish on top of a container. A fourth was chopping wood. That left eight unaccounted for.

He trained his sights on the one on top of the container. The woman had body armor on, but it wasn’t a full set like his, nor did she have a helmet. She would fall instantly, provided he scored a headshot.

His sights drifted lower, considering the angle. If he shot her there, she’d drop from the container. Her fall would create undue noise. Even if he did angle it so that she stayed on the container, she was too close to the two by the fire to go unnoticed.

His sights drifted from her. Locus scanned the perimeter, looking to see if any of the other eight had decided to come in while he’d been examining the woman, but he saw no one. Perhaps some of them were in the containers. Perhaps they were out for a reason.

If he hit one now, the chances of the rest scattering into the jungle were high.

Locus reached up and adjusted his HUD for motion sensing. The four people in sight immediately grew red outlines that brightened when they moved.

He took aim again.

_Let them run._

He pulled the trigger and the woman on the container collapsed.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

Locus nabbed one more before the other two disappeared into the underbrush. He watched his second target – a man – fall over and got up to begin his pursuit. The sniper rifle went to his back and he took up his shotgun instead. He still had tracking on one runner.

This one was panicked. Instead of trying to regroup with his fellow, he was running in a random direction without a weapon or a plan. Locus ghosted after his red outline, steps silent, and was one him before he could even get a hundred meters away from his camp. He didn’t even need his gun to take him. The man tried to wrestle him, but he was unarmored, unaware, and unprepared – Locus smashed his fist into his jaw and he crumpled.

He caught him before he could dash his head on anything. He cuffed him to a tree to secure him, shook his arm out, and turned his attention on the others. He had nine more to find.

As he hefted his shotgun, however, Locus realized he probably should have asked the man about his compatriots before knocking him out. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. It had been as if… he’d expected someone else to just cover that.

He shook his head. There wasn’t someone else.

Locus switched from motion to heat. The jungle became a wash of yellows and reds – and a pinprick of white frantically moving away from him.

He moved to run, but a twinge of pain halted him. After a moment, he began to circle after his quarry instead.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

The last one was brought down by a shot to the knee. He fell over mid-run and tumbled through the foliage before coming to a stop, screaming his head off. Locus phased into sight, driving his screaming into a higher pitch, and held out his hands mollifying.

“I’m not here to kill you,” he said.

It did not stop the screaming.

Locus sighed and fetched biofoam from his hip. He held the man down and ignored his flailing fists as he jabbed the end of the canister through his bloody pant leg and sprayed a generous amount. The man’s voice cracked as he shrieked.

“You will survive,” Locus said as he pulled the half-empty canister back. The bleeding abated. Soon, the pain would be nullified too. “I have questions for you.”

“Fuck you!” he screamed.

“It will not take long. Answer me quickly, and I will provide further first-aid.”

“- motherfucking piece of shit –“

“Your camp has twelve people in total. I have seen only four of you. Where are the rest?”

“- hope you die, you son of a bitch –“

“Do you need something else to numb the pain?” Locus asked futilely. He twitched his head to avoid the middle finger.

“- you’re fucking _crazy!”_

The air whooshed out of him. Locus clenched his fist and stomped on the instinctive surge of anger. It curled back inside of him, hot and tight, and Locus counted to ten. Then twenty.

“I’ll take that as an affirmative,” Locus muttered and pulled a hypo from his hip pouch. He jabbed it into the meat of the man’s thigh and injected it, releasing a heady mix of anesthetics. The man jerked in his grasp for a few moments but he steadily grew weaker as his expression grew dazed.

“What’s your name?” Locus asked.

“J-Julio Martinez.”

“How many people are in your camp?”

“Tuh… twelve? I’m not sure…”

“In your camp, there were only four people. Where are the other eight?”

“Sandy… died… of an infection last night,” Julio said, his eyes glazing over, “and – and Sydney, Chan… and Park… went to get more medicine.”

“That’s four people. There are four more left.”

“I… I dunno… man, it’s so _bright…”_

“Focus.”

“Are you… an angel…?” Julio asked, reaching up for Locus’ face. He sighed as a hand brushed down the side of his helmet reverently.

“This is useless,” he grumbled and let go of Julio. His wound was stabilized and the anesthetics were good for another six hours; he’d been safe here until Locus could come back for him.

“Wait, angel… come back…”

Locus stepped back from Julio. “Not an angel,” he grunted. “Furthest thing possible.”

He had the last known route of four now. The closest inhabited area here was…

Locus brought up his map to check.

_Camp 10-B._

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend got me into Dota and life is suffering. If any of y'all know tips, comment it because I need that shit.


	5. Chapter 5

Ch. 5

Felix disliked staying put for longer than absolutely necessary. Anyone who watched Locus snipe would feel the same. It didn’t matter if you couldn’t be seen. Given enough time and the right tech, you could still end up with a bullet through your skull. So the moment his legs stopped convulsing when he moved them, he swung himself out of bed.

Rubbing his wrist where the cuff had chafed, Felix rooted around the tent first. His findings were disappointing.

 _Bandages…pills… ointment…surgical tools…_ there was nothing that he could actually _use._ Even the scalpel he snuck between his bandages was a poor man’s replacement for a well-balanced knife. To his deeper disappointment, he didn’t find any more interesting alien knick-knacks either. Wherever the doc got his, it wasn’t going to be lying around here.

There was also the matter of his nudity. Felix kicked over a few crates until he found a set of papery gowns. “Really?” he muttered, testily lifting the corner of one gown. It looked like it would fall apart in a stiff breeze. Despite his efforts, though, no other options sprung up.

 _Could’ve left me **something** , _Felix thought scathingly, picturing his fist in Inoue’s square face. He put on the gown – which didn’t have any openings, thankfully – made sure his bandages were secure, and poked his head out of the tent warily.

A small sea of white tents greeted him. The tent he was in was also white and when Felix peered around, he caught sight of the medical crosses made out of red duct tape on the sides of the tents.

He stepped out. Felix had to determine the location of his armor – someone had to know where Inoue had stashed it. Then he had to find something to eat, because that prick hadn’t given him anything. Tch, shitty bedside manners seemed to be an epidemic on this shitty planet.

He took a furtive glance around before making his way between another two white tents. No one jumped out to stop him. No people in suits pointed guns at him. He didn’t hear the report of gunfire or the growl of Warthogs and, after years of non-stop fighting, Felix found himself unsettled by the noiselessness of peace.

Whatever.

He walked with more confidence this time, testing out the state of his legs, and clearly, he must still be on the mend because he damn near walked straight into someone after walking around the corner of a tent.

“Hey, watch it! What’re you doing outta bed, huh?”

Felix stumbled back, almost lost his balance, and grabbed one of the poles that held up the tents before he did. His pride still prickled at the stupid mistake. _“You_ watch it,” he snapped waspishly, “what gives?”

He’d run into a black woman – no, Felix realized on a second look, a girl. She had to be younger than twenty, at _least._ The twin braids only exacerbated her youth, but there was no fear in her brown eyes as she waved a ladle at him. “No back-talk,” she retorted, _“especially_ not from someone sneaking out of supper.”

“I’m not – supper?” His stomach gurgled hungrily at the word. Fuck, he was starving. Felix hadn’t eaten since he fell and who knew when _that_ had been. “Are you the lunch lady or something?”

“No, I’m the _nurse._ Nurse Florence, but people call me Flora. Aren’t you that guy they pulled off the street a few days ago?” She leaned in and sniffed. “You certainly _smell_ like it.”

“I’m walking barefoot in a paper gown,” Felix said flatly. “Look – I’m starving and I’m looking for my stuff. Be a good nurse and do something about that, will you?”

Being charming would earn him a lot more brownie points, but he was too damn tired to try. _Locus_ wasn’t here to nag his ear off about it, so it barely mattered. Hell, he’d fucking blow this joint as soon as he could, deal or no deal.

“You can’t sit out here and eat,” Flora replied, wrinkling her button nose. “Look – follow me, okay? You need shoes or something too, you look homeless.”

Felix thought about snapping back, but he wisely held his tongue. Flora pulled something behind her and he noticed the small wagon that trundled behind her. A huge soup pot had been bolted to it and tantalizing smells drifted from it. It was enough to convince him to obey.

“What happened after I came here?” he asked, prodding her for information. “You know anything?”

“Not really,” Flora answered over her shoulder. “I only heard because Bozz was working the night shift when you got dragged in and Bozz gossips about _everything._ Said you had fancy armor and all, and that you’re probably an army deserter or something, and that you’re on the run to protect your family.”

“…what?”

“Bozz said it,” Flora said, as if that clarified things. _“Are_ you army?”

“…sort of,” Felix shrugged. “Why?”

“Well, Doctor Inoue _really_ wanted to treat you and he usually only works with the animals so we were all ‘what’s up with that’ but he kept arguing for it. And Doctor Inoue is _really_ interested in the army stuff.”

“Hold up,” Felix said, raising his hand. “Did you say Inoue works with _animals?”_

“Yeah.” Flora stopped to give him a weird look. “He’s the _vet._ Duh.”

“You people… let a vet… operate on me?” He couldn’t believe it. This was… this was just plain fucking… Felix couldn’t even find the _words._

“Yeah.” Flora caught his expression and smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry _._ Doctor Inoue is a great vet, I watched him turn around calves in the uterus and stuff with his bare hands. Nothing is hard after that.”

“That isn’t the _point!”_

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

Felix sulkily pushed his gumbo around with his spoon. His bowl was still half-full while everyone else was on their seconds and it wasn’t because the food wasn’t good. It was. It was also spicier than hellfire.

His nose watered as he ate a spoonful that both tasted good and punished his mouth, and grabbed for his glass of water immediately afterwards to soothe the burn. He caught Flora shooting him pitying glances every now and then and shake her head. He was rather certain he caught her mutter _white boy_ under her breath too.

Sheer contrariness kept him doggedly eating the gumbo. It also gave him a good excuse to avoid conversation and just listen.

“The general of the rebels – Kimball, now – is apparently the leader of both sides now,” Gordon, a heavy-set man with bulldog-like jowls, reported. He scratched the bushy underside of his chin. “Missus is talking about looking into that. Apparently they’ve got food, medicine, shelter –“

“Everything _we’ve_ got,” cut in Fatima from his opposite side.

“- and better protection than here,” Gordon finished as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“Can we trust that, though?” asked Sousa, who had the bed all to herself thanks to her broken leg. “They’ve promised us a lot of things before. Food. Protection. End of the war. Look where that got us.”

“You know what they say,” Gordon shrugged. “Two mercenaries did it.”

“Ah, don’t tell me you _believe_ that story,” Fatima said. She tugged on the end of her hijab, expression scornful. “Two _mercenaries_ just incite war on a whole _planet._ As if. It’s total sh – trash.”

Flora lowered her hands from her ears.

“People are saying there’s proof,” Sousa said. “Firsthand accounts from people. Videos. Pictures.”

“Easy to fake.”

“Not to maintain,” Gordon rumbled. “It would leak eventually. It always does. Nah, I think it’s real this time.”

“Oh yeah, and according to them, one of those guys ran _away._ That’s great news, I’m sure. Just some crazy gunman running around, _perfect.”_

Felix snorted into his gumbo but covered it up with a cough. When he looked up, he saw Flora roll her eyes. “Any of you seen that guy?” he asked.

“What, the merc? Yeah, he’s the green one, right?”

“Mm, yeah, the big one. Other one died or something.”

“Haven’t seen him around,” Fatima said. Felix disguised his disappointment. “I figure he’s laying low right now. That’s what I’d do.”

“So no mysterious deaths? No unexplained murders in the night? I mean, I don’t know about you guys, but I’d be _pretty_ worried.”

“Sounds like you are,” Sousa said wryly. “Got a story to share?”

Felix thought about Flora’s theory about who he was – or Bozz’s theory that she shared. “Well,” he said casually, leaning back, “let’s just say I’ve seen him around a few times and I really don’t want to repeat the experience. Better to know where he is than to wonder, yeah?”

“The mercenary doesn’t matter –“

The tent flap opened and Inoue poked his head through. “There you are,” he said, glaring at Felix. “Flora, why did you not tell me that _he_ left his tent?”

“I was gonna,” the girl said, kicking her feet. “After my food run. He’s been with me the entire time anyway.”

“Hey, doc,” Felix said, waving, “or – vet. Just learned that, y’know. Nice to hear that a guy who works on animals operated on _me –“_

“Come here,” Inoue snapped. “I have not finished treating you and your injuries are too severe for you to be walking around like this.”

His words stank of a lie. Felix glanced between the vet and the others, and tilted his head. “Alright, alright,” he said, waving his hands airily, “chill out, man. I just didn’t want to stay in one place all day. I’ll be right out, okay? “

He turned to the others. “Guys, it’s been great knowing you. I’ll just go before he decides I need stitches in uncomfortable places. Flora – thanks for the gumbo, it was awesome. Uh, I’ll be seeing you around, I guess. Bye.”

“Bye,” they chimed after him as Felix stepped out. Inoue immediately grabbed his arm and led him away.

“What are you doing?” he demanded once they were out of earshot.

“What does it look like?” Felix snapped back, taking back his arm. “What, did you think I was going to sit in that tent until I healed up? No way.”

“If you are trying to cause _trouble –“_

“Will you just _relax?_ If you hadn’t noticed, I’m kind of fucked up right now, I’m not going to snap and go on a killing spree. You didn’t leave me anything to do or even any _food_ , so duh, I’m going to go out and do something about it!”

Inoue opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself. He took a deep breath instead, visibly swallowing his words, and Felix felt a lump in his throat for a reason he couldn’t explain - didn’t want to explain.

 _“Look,”_ the vet started, “clearly if you are running around like this, you are healing faster than I would have expected from you. But let us make something clear – I do not want you interacting with the people of Camp 10-B.”

“Are you kidding me?” Felix said, dismissing his sudden wave of emotion. “Do you think someone’s gonna recognize me or something? You said that no one here recognized me aside from yourself. Unless you were, like, _lying,_ then I don’t see your point.”

And if the good vet were lying, then why weren’t there people armed with guns trying to kill him right now? Felix suspected that Inoue wasn’t really the only one who knew, but he was the one making sure anyone else in the know wasn’t going say anything. It ultimately didn’t matter to him. As long as he got out of here, who knew him didn’t matter.

“No, I do not want you near them because you are a _monster.”_

That threw Felix for a loop. He blinked at the conviction in Inoue’s voice – then laughed. It hurt like a damn bitch, but he laughed until his voice grew hoarse with pain. “Oh my God,” he wheezed, “are you trying to protect them? From _me?_ Well, maybe we’re not on the same page, doc, but you’re the one hiding _me_ from _them.”_

Inoue’s face grew tight at his reminder, but he didn’t refute it. Instead, he turned sharply. “Go back to your tent,” he said.

Felix chuckled a little more. “Nah, I don’t think so. I want to know where my stuff is.”

“That is not possible.”

“I don’t care. Show it.”

“You do not hold the cards here –“ Inoue half-turned, his expression growing indignant.

“Then maybe I should just trigger the failsafe on my stuff and blow this place to kingdom come.”

Inoue froze. “What?”

Felix smiled nastily. “Oh yeah, you heard me. Do you really think I’m going to let some nobodies grab my shit? No. That stuff’s rigged with enough explosives that it’ll put a pretty little crater in the middle of this shithole.”

“You have nothing on you, you can’t detonate it.”

“Microchip detonator under my skin, doc – do you really want to test me?”

Inoue didn’t say anything for a long moment. Felix crossed his arms and let him stew.

“…follow me,” he finally said, tone curt. He turned away before Felix could see his expression, but he read the tension in his shoulders.

 _Hook. Line. And sinker._ Felix would have laughed if his ribs weren’t already aching from before. “Add some clothes to that,” he said, “I’m getting tired of walking around in a gown.”

 ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

Inoue grabbed clothes for him before he took him to where he hid his armor. The thin sweats and raggedy t-shirt wasn’t really an upgrade, but it was better than flashing his ass every time the breeze picked up.

His toes curled inside of his sneakers. They were a fraction too small for him and their soles looked ready to fall off.

 _Douche,_ Felix thought at Inoue’s back as they left the white tents behind. The clothes couldn’t be all they had. No, the asshole gave him shitty stuff on purpose.

“Where are we going?” he asked loudly, craning his neck to look around. The camp was clearly divided into different sections by color. The white tents had to be the medical area. Now, they were in a sea of green-brown. The living quarters, maybe?

“It is none of your business,” Inoue hissed back at him. He steered them away from the most populated areas, taking what passed for alleyways in a tent city, and didn’t wait for Felix to catch up.

“Still curious.”

“I do not _care –“_

“Tired, too.”

Inoue bit down on his reply, grumbling angrily to himself.

“So what’s up with your fixation on me anyway? Why are you helping me?”

“Stop asking questions!” Inoue stopped outside a tent. “These are not questions you need answers for.”

“What’s this?” Felix said as he stopped at Inoue’s side. The tent didn’t look like the others did. They billowed and curved with the wind, but this one looked… solid. Firm. “Your armory?”

“No,” Inoue said shortly. He pushed aside the tent flap and Felix’s brow shot up when he saw a door on the other side.

A house _inside_ of a tent? Why even bother? Unless… it was meant to disguise it. A building stood out among tents. But one that looked like the sea around it was just another tent.

Inoue unlocked the door and stepped in. Felix followed him, not sure what to expect.

“This your place?” he asked, taking in the homey atmosphere. The walls were an ugly concrete grey and the floor wasn’t much better, but the warm rugs and tapestries strewn around mitigated the coldness of the concrete. Felix touched one close to the door and felt the small lumps in the weaving. Home-made, probably.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Inoue said. “Wait – wait here. I will bring you your equipment.”

Felix watched him disappear into another room. As soon as he was gone, he checked the walls for surveillance equipment. He found none. Felix touched the door lock – it was a simple mechanism that could be picked. Good. There was a rough window on one wall, but he didn’t find any latches that would open it. He glanced up.

Ah. There it was. There were neat squares cut into the concrete that must be the ventilation network that kept this house from suffocating. He checked for Inoue, then measured one of the openings.

Three-and-a-half hand spans across. It would be a tight fit, but he’d worked with less.

By the time Inoue returned, Felix was back in the same spot as before, peering at the photos on the walls. “Your family?” he asked, pointing at the pictures. “Hm. Cute wife.”

“Your equipment.”

A chest wheeled across the floor and Felix stopped it with his foot. He glanced at Inoue and the man nodded.

He bent down and opened it. Inside, he found his armor.

“Ba­ _-by,”_ he murmured to himself as he touched the cool metal. It was scored with nicks but the color was still strong. He lifted his helmet out first. The back end of it had an impressive dent from the fall. If Felix hadn’t broken his fall with the shield, the force of impact would have punched through the metal like it was paper.

“Got any repairmen around here?” he asked, touching the visor next. It hadn’t shattered, but he felt the tiny edges of a thousand cracks.

“No.”

Felix set the helmet aside. He pulled out his chest piece next. Its back was also dented and one shoulder had a huge splinter. He tutted under his breath and put it aside. Everything else was the same. Dented. Half-broken. It wasn’t impossible to use, but the armor wouldn’t take any more stress. One good spinning-Agent-Carolina kick, and it would fall apart.

He found his hardlight shield emitter at the very bottom. Felix touched the snapped latches, the crushed projector, and after digging his thumb into an open edge, cracked the whole thing open with his bare hands. It was totaled.

 _Shit._ He set the emitter down. There was nothing else in the chest.

“Is that all I had on me?” he asked.

“Everything,” Inoue confirmed.

A busted set of armor was better than nothing. Felix bit the tip of his tongue and stood up. “Okay,” he said, “it’s all there. Just… don’t mess with it. After the beating this thing got, I’m not sure it won’t just trigger the failsafe on its own.”

“Understood,” Inoue nodded sharply. Then his brow knitted. “Aren’t you going to pack it away?”

Felix glanced around the strewn armor pieces. His set had twenty-five separate pieces that had to be packed in a specific order to be space efficient. He stepped towards the door instead. “Nah, thought I’d give you the honors. Have fun, doc.”

“Felix –“

“Ow, ow, I think I aggravated my injuries. I should probably go and lay down. Bye.” Felix waved good-bye and left before Inoue could say anything else.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

_“Steady,” Locus whispered through the mic and Felix tensed. The car he’d been sitting in for the last seven hours remained undisturbed. No one cared about ugly cars._

_He wet his lips and played with the safety of his gun. “Are you watching me?” he asked._

_“You’re fidgeting,” Locus said. “It’s hard not to notice.”_

_Felix glanced up to where Locus had nested down with his sniper rifle. He couldn’t see him, but the shadows bent around the window in a way that made him comfortable. “You’re supposed to be watching the target.”_

_“I can do both,” Locus said levelly._

_Felix played with the safety of his pistol and pictured Locus in the other building. Judging by the height of the building, Locus was kneeling with his gun and, knowing him, he hadn’t moved an inch since he got into position. His knees would be killing him – his back too._

_He wouldn’t complain. He never did. But a stiff Locus was a grumpier one. One who didn’t put out._

_“We’ve been waiting for hours,” Felix replied, his lips barely moving. His stretched his legs and they ached._

_“I know.”_

_“My legs are getting numb.”_

_“You told me.”_

_“My back is killing me.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Are you even listening to me?”_

_“Mhh.” Locus grunted noncommittally. It was the ‘please shut up, Felix’ one and not the ‘I’m aiming at you’ grunt, so Felix pushed his luck a little._

_“I’m moving,” he said, standing up. His back popped and he groaned blissfully. “Come with me if you want, but I’m not waiting for this shit.”_

_“Felix –“_

_“Catch you later, sucker.”_

_Locus made an aggravated noise through comms, but he said no more. Felix stole into the mansion they had been staking out and killed three of the four perimeter guards. The fourth’s head exploded without his involvement._

_His flashed a thumb’s up before darting through the rest of the place. Five minutes and a firefight later, Locus loped down with his sniper hanging from his shoulder._

_Felix heard the telltale crick-snap of a neck breaking, and peered out from the wall he took cover behind. “Good timing,” he said, and revealed the blood streaming down his shoulder. “Just a graze.”_

_Locus made a disparaging noise but pulled out biofoam anyway. “You should be more careful,” he said admonishingly._

_“Yeah, well, you’re here, so it’s fine.”_

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

That night, Felix crept out of his tent and stole back to Inoue’s place. He avoided the door and the small window, and searched for the ventilation shafts instead. The tent had tiny openings for them that were covered in screens to ward off insects.

Felix pulled out his stolen scalpel and sawed through them. Under the screen, the shafts were covered in screwed-on grates. He took out the small tools he’d nicked from around the camp and unscrewed the largest shaft’s grate.

He pushed his arm through to test its width. It was… a hand span thick at the most. Felix put everything aside and pulled himself up. Being flexible was hard when your body still felt like a child’s ragdoll after playtime, but he bit down on his pain and pushed his head and shoulders through. There were no lights on.

Felix delicately pulled the rest of himself through and dropped down. Now, if _he_ were a paranoid vet harboring a mercenary’s belongings, where would he put them?

He began to creep towards the room that Inoue had gone into. On the other side of the filmy divider, he found a short hallway. Felix stopped at each doorway and pressed his hand under the small space between the door and the floor to feel the airflow.

People kept their things in the bedroom because they, under some misguided understanding of the world, thought that where they slept was the safest place in the house. That kind of space needed air.

Two of the three doors felt stale. The last door, however, had the telltale gentle breeze of regular airflow.

Felix tested the knob. Not locked – stupid.

The door swung open for him easily. Without the traitorous creaking of wooden floors to worry about, Felix could creep towards black outline of the bed soundlessly. He saw Inoue on the bed, snoring quietly, and considered slitting his throat.

Killing him now and disappearing would alert people. He couldn’t be sure if it would compromise his relative anonymity, however. But if he didn’t, then Inoue could spill his guts anyway. Without a reliable transport off the planet, Felix didn’t quite feel like letting anyone know he survived.

He advanced on the bed. _Sorry, doc, but it’s time to go._

His scalpel swung towards his throat and sunk in deep into… a pillow?

“What the –“

“Do not move.” A gun clicked behind him and Felix froze. The lights clicked on, temporarily blinding him, but he saw what he stood over. Two pillows had been bunched under the bed sheet while a small recorder played a loop of snores over and over again.

“You expected this,” he surmised.

“I did,” Inoue said from behind him. Felix glanced at him from the corner of his eye. The man sat in the corner of the room, angled away from any possible light source, his clothes chosen carefully to mimic the grey of the room as closely as possible. The gun was a pistol, the kind that was issued for every UNSC soldier. It was aimed at him. And most unfortunate of all, Inoue held it like he knew how to use it.

“You do not get to steal your things and run off,” Inoue continued. “We have a deal.”

“I’m more interested in getting off this planet than any damn deal,” Felix said, eyeing the pistol. If his aim wavered, even a little, then he could dart forward and disarm him.

“I predicted that,” Inoue replied calmly, pistol steady. “But you do not have a choice.”

Felix slowly put his hands up. Alright, he could back off for now. But Inoue couldn’t follow him around and –

 “I installed a bomb inside of your abdomen,” Inoue said. “And I will detonate it if you do not do as I say.”

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙


	6. Chapter 6

Ch. 6

 _A'rynasea’s_ tight quarters didn’t make for comfortable living. Only the ship’s bridge was suitable for human occupation – everything else was taken up by the most souped up engines and weapons a ship this size could accommodate.

Normally, Locus didn’t mind it. _A'rynasea_ wasn’t meant to be used for long voyages anyway, so its tight quarters was a problem that lasted for only a few hours.

What he hadn’t foreseen in its design was how awkward first-aid was without a helping hand. Locus pressed gauze into the torn stitches on his shoulder to stem their bleeding, and examined the medical equipment at his disposal. He had everything short of a fully-equipped clinic, but a surplus of equipment didn’t alleviate his problem.

Locus turned to examine himself in the wall mirror again. The anesthetic left him feeling disconnected from the process, as if he were watching this happen to someone else. He had four major stitches, running from the base of his neck to the middle of his back, holding together lacerations gained after shrapnel from the _Tartarus_ cut through his suit. Three of them were still whole after that small tussle in the jungle.

One, however…

Locus gently touched the split stitches on the span of his shoulder. He’d need to pull out the torn stitches and salvage the rest before it could pull apart. If he let this tear continue down his back, then it would be _impossible_ to fix on his own.

And explaining the problem to Dr. Joanes would be… preferably avoided.

 _Felix could have done it,_ Locus thought.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

_“Jesus Christ,” Felix muttered as he pulled the suture closed, “aren’t you the one who’s always nagging me about being more careful?”_

_“Your aid isn’t necessary.”_

_Felix slapped Locus’ hand out of his way. “Yeah, right, and who’s going to fix up this giant fucking gash in your leg?”_

_“I can –“_

_“Don’t even start,” Felix said and gave the needle a small yank. He smirked at Locus’ soft gasp. “Stitching yourself only works in the movies. Just get over the soldier bullshit for, like, two seconds and let me do this.”_

_Locus’ mouth pinched as Felix bent over his leg. At least the stitches so far were neat and uniform. When Felix offered no more smart commentary, Locus relaxed enough to lie back against the pillows._

_He would never be sure when exactly he fell asleep._

_Two hours later, he woke up alone with his leg propped up on a pillow, the stitches complete, and covered in a blanket that hadn’t been there before._

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

He mopped up the blood oozing down his chest and picked through the medical cabinets with one hand. He found the needle and thread. A bottle of rubbing alcohol. A canister of biofoam to be on the safe side. Two small clamps that he didn’t know the exact purpose of, but would be handy for holding his skin together.

“ _A'rynasea,”_ he said as he used the clamps to pinch together his skin.

The ship chirped.

“Is this ship equipped with a tutorial on stitches?”

 _“Please specify the type of stitches,”_ chimed the ship’s on-board computer. _“Do you mean stitches that regard sewing, needlework, embroidery –“_

“Medical stitches.”

_“I’m sorry, that is not available.”_

Locus paused his task of threading the needle with his teeth and one hand. Why… didn’t the ship have that kind of information? “…does this ship have information on _any_ kind of stitching?” he asked slowly.

_“Tutorials on basic needlework are available.”_

He pursed his lips and looked at himself again. His shoulder was practically split open now. If it weren’t for a frankly unsafe amount of anesthetic, he’d have passed out from the pain. And if he didn’t treat it himself, he’d have to go to Dr. Joanes.

“Bring up the basic needlework.”

_“Certainly. Please specify which.”_

“How many are there?”

_“There are two thousand and seventy three tutorials on basic needlework available on this ship’s computer.”_

“Why?” Locus blurted before he could reign himself in. He dipped the needle and thread in the alcohol.

_“Well, it appears that during installation of the computer, Engineers Ramsey and Clyde –“_

“No, that wasn’t a request for more information. Bring up… bring up a tutorial for a basic stitching pattern to connect two… materials.”

_“Certainly.”_

A tutorial appeared on-screen. Locus squinted at it and sighed.

The split stitch was on his right side. He was right-handed.

He picked up the needle with his left hand and measured where he needed to start. This was going to be a long day.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

It took him an hour to finish the job. In that time period, the anesthetic wore off enough that his eyes began to water from the pain. To counteract it, Locus injected a local numbing agent into his arm.

Most of his right side promptly fell out of operation within five minutes.

On the bright side, he no longer felt the pain. On the less bright side, half his body lagged behind the other half. At least his body matched his mental state now.

Locus stumbled to the bridge like a particularly uncoordinated sloth and slumped into his chair. The lights of the technicolor console swam headily.

Luckily, _A'rynasea_ had autopilot and the coordinates for Camp 10-B was already punched in. Locus passed out before the ship was even airborne.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

The hour’s flight to _A'rynasea_ passed by in the blink of an eye. Locus had only meant to rest his eyes for a few seconds, but he was already here.

The ship settled down in the jungle like an invisible bird of prey. Locus pulled on clean clothes, tiredly shaved off stubble, and attempted to look a little livelier than he actually felt. The bruises, bloodshot eyes, and gaunt cheeks staring back at him told a different story. The numbing agent had mostly worn off, though his right eye retained a small droop.

He looked more like someone’s battered spouse than a mercenary.

It would have to be good enough. Locus left the armor behind for a different face.

Sam wore frayed baseball caps and flannel. He carried a crossbow for protection that was loaded with handmade bolts. His pants were faded jeans torn at the hems and his cowboy boots had seen better days. He wore his long hair down, but braided it when the situation called.

Sam didn’t look like Locus. He didn’t look like someone who hunted bandits either, but Locus was counting on that impression. For some reason, people trusted Sam a lot more than they trusted him.

“ _A'rynasea,_ stay,” he ordered, swinging out. “Mode – cloak and signal blackout. Respond if called.”

The ship chirped affirmation. Locus pulled his crossbow up higher and trudged in the direction of Camp 10-B.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

“We do get new faces around here. But that’s not really a new thing – it just happens, y’know? We had a couple caravans come in yesterday, a wounded soldier got taken in, uh… I think a few families moved in and out – 10-B is pretty close to 10-A and 10-C, so. It happens.”

The busy marketplace of Camp 10-B’s main agora pulsed with the overwhelming noise and commotion of the day crowd, and Locus hunched deeper into his seat. His head hurt, the tea he was drinking tasted terrible, and his paranoia was ticking higher by the second, but he endured it for the mission.

Gordon, the man who operated the tea stand, continued to talk at him. Locus listened to the man prattle on quietly, well-practiced in letting chatty people handle all the talking. 

He didn’t have a habit of yelling in frustration, at least, so the urge to snap at him was low. The information he provided wasn’t interesting. It certainly didn’t mention three people in search of medicine.

“How is the bandit problem?” Locus asked in between sentences.

“- and we have – oh, what? The bandits?” Gordon made an expression of distaste. “Well, you know how it is. Some people fight during a war. Some people try to survive that war. And some people just…” he pitched his voice lower as if to impart a secret. “Some people just go _crazy.”_

Locus’ grip on his crossbow tightened.

Gordon didn’t notice. “And these bandits? Well, they’re basically all the nuts in society who suddenly have the power to act out. So they run around, stealing, and killing, and hurting good people because they can. Dogs, all of them. Nothing but dogs. I know people who lost family to them.”

“…have you seen any?”

“Actually, now that you mention it,” Gordon said, leaning back, “they’re showing up less and less lately. Sometimes we find some in the woods, you know? Injured, tied up, babbling crazy-like about some invisible man in armor – too much dehydration, I’d say.”

“Good to know,” Locus said quietly. He dipped his head, letting his hair fall in front of his face. The concealer he had hid his scar decently but it was two shades too light for him, so he ended up looking mildly blotchy. It wasn’t bad enough to draw the stares that his scar did, but up close like this, people started _noticing._ What people noticed, they remembered.

Locus stood up, unsatisfied with what he got. The bitter tea sat in his gut like a stagnant puddle in a pothole and his headache spiked up something fierce after Gordon’s careless words. Idling here and gossiping wouldn’t get him anything. He needed to find someone responsible for the medical supplies here. Perhaps they would know more.

“So, Sam, what is it you’re doing again?” Gordon asked.

“Hunting,” Locus answered and left the tea stand.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

“What do you need me for?” asked the woman he’ been directed to. She was black, with long dreads tied back into a ponytail, and wore army fatigues. A pistol hung at her hip. She held herself like a soldier, but she didn’t look like anyone Locus knew from the Feds.

“Are you Doctor Ayesha Hailey?” Locus asked.

“I am,” the doctor confirmed. She looked up from the crate she had been organizing. “What is it?”

“My name’s Sam,” Locus said awkwardly, sitting down on the upturned crate next to her. “I am looking for a few people. There should be three of them. They were looking for medicine. I thought they would be here.”

“Three people, huh?” Hailey looked contemplative. Then she peered at him. “What for?”

“I know them,” Locus said, which wasn’t a lie, not really. “Wanted to find them.”

Hailey stared at him for a moment. Locus shifted his weight from one leg to the next, then looked away. His hair fell in front of his face.

“There were a few people, yeah,” she said after a pause. “Said they wanted antibiotics for a friend. They were willing to pay in cash which I found a little strange.”

“That sounds like them.”

“Mhmm. Go check the temp residentials. People who’re here for a short time stay there.”

“Thanks.”

He moved to leave, but she held up her hand. “Wait.” She opened her mouth to say something, paused, and her eyes flicked over his face again.

 _Does she know?_ Locus tensed, wondering how he would stifle her if she screamed. _Was she from the army? But they never saw my face, she can’t –_

“Squad 104th?” she asked and Locus’ train of thought screeched off its rails.

That was something he hadn’t heard in a long time. Preferably, he would never hear it again. His jaw set as he turned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, sorry,” he heard her say. “I thought you looked familiar.”

He didn’t remember meeting her before.

But that was the thing about being former UNSC. Old memories sprung up where they were least wanted.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still real fucking sick.

Ch. 7

Felix probably said it a thousand times already, but he fucking _hated_ this planet. He hated its humid jungles. He hated its foreign sky. And most of all, he hated its fucking people.

He viciously kicked a rock out of his way.

Somewhere inside his gut, there was a bomb. And not just cut-it-out-and-its-there, but wedged into his intestines, as Inoue informed him, just so he didn’t get _ideas._

Oh, Felix had _ideas_ alright. They were mostly about finding a big fucking knife and lodging it in Inoue’s smug face. His five-step plan suddenly was a six-step plan now – the sixth being _kill that piece of shit vet._

“Are you looking for something?” someone asked, interrupting his silent fuming.

Felix looked up and noticed that he’d left the medical quarters. Good. He didn’t know where he was exactly – the tents here were all disparate and had no symbol – but it was away from Inoue. “No,” he said shortly, jamming his hands deeper in his pockets, “fuck off.”

He veered away from them and walked on. Maybe there was another Purge tower on this godforsaken rock. What he’d _give_ to find another damn sword and shove it in, and watch this entire place go up in flames like it deserved. If he was _extra_ lucky, then it would take the sim troopers and the Freelancers with it.

 _And Locus,_ Felix thought. Then he amended his thought. _No, he deserves something worse._

What _worse_ was, Felix wasn’t sure of yet. Nothing seemed _right._ Just killing him wasn’t enough. No, he had to _suffer._ He had to be in pain. He had to be humiliated, destroyed, and beaten down before Felix let him have the mercy of death.

_Pit. Pat._

Something wet fell on his face. Felix looked up and caught another raindrop, this time on his lips.

Rainstorms on Chorus were always great, flooding deluges, as if the sky was trying to wash away the planet under it. Around him, people hastened to get out of the rain. Felix didn’t follow them into shelter. He walked through the downpour and let it soak him to the bone as he returned to glaring at the ground.

He kept walking, not knowing what he meant to do. He was stuck in the annoying grey space between healed enough to move around and not enough to go into the field. If he had something to do, maybe his listlessness wouldn’t have been so bad. But a tent city didn’t have an entertainment system.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

_“I’m bored.”_

_“Hmm.”_

_“What’re you reading?”_

_“Anna Karenina,” Locus said. He paused, then added, “By Leo Tolstoy, a Russian –“_

_“Fuck off, I know who Tolstoy is.”_

_Locus didn’t say anything. Felix fiddled with his bedsheets, stared at the walls, and flicked through TV channels without settling on anything. He messed with the settings of his hospital bed, making the back inclined, or making it lower, until it stopped being interesting. He laid back down, pulled his sheets to his chin, and closed his eyes. Sleep eluded him though, and when Felix checked the clock, he saw that only five minutes had passed since he last checked it._

_Locus didn’t look up when Felix glanced at him. He seemed gone into his own world, just reading, and Felix considered throwing something at him. Instead, he said, “Read to me.”_

_His partner glanced at him through the corner of his eye. “What?”_

_“Read to me,” Felix repeated, propping his head up. “Come on, something about those books have to be interesting enough for you to be so lost in them.”_

_“I’m on chapter twelve. You wouldn’t understand anything.”_

_“Well, start over then.”_

_Locus gave him a level look. Then he looked back to his book. Slowly, as Felix watched, he flipped back to the beginning. “…”_

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

A gunshot punched through Felix’s thoughts like a giant’s fist through paper. He bolted into cover before his brain caught up to his legs, and reached for his hip before he remembered that he was unarmored.

 _Two o’clock,_ he thought. Screams and shouting came from the same direction too, and Felix ducked down when someone ran past his hiding spot. They passed by without noticing him and he crept forward to see what was going on.

“- fucking tired of this bullshit –“

“- get the fuck out –“

“- put the gun down –“

All the yelling was so muddled together that Felix could only catch snippets. Through the rain, he saw three figures standing together with a crowd around them. Light reflected against gunmetal.

Felix darted behind another tent, ears straining.

An unfamiliar voice said, “Please put your weapons down. We can discuss this.” Felix peeked out and saw a woman – possibly Hispanic and wearing a hoodie, but the rain made it hard to be sure - standing apart from the crowd. She was unarmed and had her hands raised placatingly.

“No,” snapped another, equally unfamiliar voice, also female. She was Caucasian in appearance, wearing a thin raincoat, and one of the three surrounded by the crowd. Someone else knelt in front of her – a child, maybe a teen – and she held a pistol to their head. “We’re through talking. First you took our money, now you take our stuff, and you won’t even let us leave – fuck this!”

“We don’t know who stole your belongings, Park” the Hispanic woman said, but she was interrupted.

“That’s enough,” the man standing next to Park interjected, “let us out, or we fucking shoot this kid.”

“That isn’t –“

Felix peered closer. There was a fifth figure next to the kneeling kid, but they were prone and still.

_Earlier gunshot, first casualty?_

Felix was tempted to come closer to keep investigating. But then again, what did he care? This didn’t have anything to do with him. He could easily turn around and just wander around a different section of the city. Three freaks didn’t mean much in the end.

“Please, just let Joanna go,” continued the negotiator. “We can recompense what was stolen. We don’t have to do this.”

Park’s gun moved to her. “Fuck this,” she spat, “I’m tired of –“

A bolt zipped out of an unseen corner and went clean through her hand. There was a breathless second until the woman dropped her gun and screamed, sending a ripple through the crowd. Her two companions immediately opened fire, but didn’t get more than a few shots off before their hands were also neatly skewered.

Their hostage – Joanna – scrambled away, helped up by the Hispanic woman, and the crowd dispersed, panicked and afraid. Park tried to run, but a bolt drove into the back of her knee and she collapsed. More bolts sprouted from the legs of the men, and they fell, screaming themselves hoarse.

All of this happened under a minute. But for Felix, it had been like a movie, one that he knew like the lines on his palms.

Multiple picture-perfect shots from uncanny angles… targets who never saw what happened… all from a distance, always from the perfect distance…

The only thing missing was the _coup de grace_ splatter of brain matter.

Felix’s hands suddenly felt clammy and sweaty. His heart raced and his brain sped up while the world slowed down.

_He’s here._

He ran out before he could think better of it. There were other people too, running to escape the danger, and he pushed them out of his way carelessly, thinking of only one thing.

_It’s him. It’s only him, it can’t be anyone else, only he can do that –_

But Felix didn’t find an armored killer between the tents. He found a scruffy man hunched behind a tower of crates instead, a crossbow cradled in his arms, wet enough that his shirt clung to his back, and Felix dived for cover before he could turn around.

Armor or not, it would take years to scrub out the memory of Locus from him. He did everything in a particular way and that was tattooed into Felix’s brain, probably into his fucking _soul_ , because there was no doubt at all that the man he had seen had been Locus.

Felix crouched in the tent he took refuge in, heart hammering against his ribcage. There was no one else inside but the canvas walls were nothing compared to the thick weight of a crossbow bolt. Locus could shoot him down right now, right here, and Felix didn’t even have a knife on him.

He scanned his surroundings for a weapon. The best thing he found was an old man’s walking cane. He snatched it up and held it like a bat, thinking about angles of approach, vectors of attack, how he could avoid the bolts… and it was all so much that it took Felix a long while to realize that he hadn’t heard anything for a long time.

He edged out slowly, stopping at the slightest hint of a noise, and finally poked his nose out of the tent.

To his utter disbelief, the crates that Locus had been taking shelter behind were now empty.

He… was gone?

He hadn’t… noticed him?

Felix dropped the cane, suddenly feeling robbed. Locus hadn’t noticed him. He had been working himself up thinking about how their fight would go, and Locus hadn’t even _realized_ who’d been behind him. Hell, if Felix had a gun on him, he would have had Locus’ brains painting canvas right now.

 _What a fucking douche,_ he fumed as he slipped out of the tent entirely. _And he lectures **me** about situational awareness…_

Felix darted towards the crates. Through the rain, he caught sight of a shadow creeping between the tents.

 _There you are._ He followed him, careful to stay out of sight when Locus checked behind himself, and maintained a good distance so he had room to slip away. What was he doing? He had been the one to attack those three jackasses, so was this a job? Was he on someone’s payroll already?

No way. The Locus he dragged out from Tartarus’ crash had been severely injured. He couldn’t be well enough to be running jobs.

And yet… here he was.

Felix touched his own, healing ribs, and wondered what state Locus was in. He didn’t have the advantage of an alien doohickey, sure, but he sure as hell wasn’t disadvantaged by a fucking near-death fall.

Once again, Felix cursed his weaponless state. He would have been able to turn Locus into a fucking porcupine twice over now, instead of stalking him like some lovesick fan. But _not_ following Locus was just plain off the table, so Felix ghosted after him. Maybe he’d see who he was working for, or even more impossibly – if he was staying in the camp too.

The possibility made his breath hitch. No way. That was too big of a coincidence. It was enough that they would somehow manage to run into each other _here_ when there was an entire planet open for them, but the same camp?

No.

It was a short while later that Felix realized, his hopes sinking, that Locus didn’t mean to find any particular place or person within the camp. He was moving to get _out._

For a wild moment, Felix considered tackling him. But no – it was too risky. He was unarmed. He didn’t know what state Locus was in. Felix didn’t fancy revealing his survival until he at least had armor and guns on his side.

Locus broke free of the outskirts of the camp to where Felix couldn’t follow. There wasn’t enough cover. He stuck to a tent instead and watched Locus slip into the jungle without a glance back. His broad shoulders disappeared into the foliage and Felix simultaneously wanted to rage, scream, and laugh at the situation.

He had Locus right in front of him, practically wrapped in a bow, and he let him walk away unscathed.

Great. Just fucking _great._

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

Seeing Locus lit a new determination in Felix. He looked for Inoue as soon as he was sure Locus was gone, and found him fussing over a dog inside a tent. The dog – a mutt with no clear breed – wagged its tail, tongue lolling out in a sloppy canine smile.

“Hey, doc, you alone?”

Inoue slowly relaxed and his hand moved away from his holstered gun. He patted the mutt he was examining absently, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What is it?” he asked cautiously.

“Heard about what just went down?”

Inoue’s eyes grew cold. “I heard,” he said stiffly and went back to the dog. He opened its mouth and checked its teeth as it wagged its tail harder.

“Those three guys – seemed pretty odd. Kinda sounded like the people _you_ wanted me to find.”

Felix leaned against one of the tent poles, his arms crossed, and watched Inoue’s face go through a complex series of changes.  First the man stiffened, then he hardened. Then his face grew carefully still, but with an undercurrent of anger written in the harsh set of his jaw.

“They are,” Inoue said, “but they are not the only ones.”

 _Bingo._ “Thought so.” Felix pasted on a winning smile. “Good news is – I think I’m healed enough to start going out.”

“Oh. What a change.” Inoue peered into the dog’s ear. “I thought you were a little reluctant, going by our last… encounter.”

 “Well,” Felix said airily, “I’ve had a change of heart.”

Inoue shot him an unimpressed look. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a square biscuit, and fed it to the mutt, petting its back as it chomped down. “If this is an attempt to get back your equipment –“

“You’ll blow me up, yeah, yeah, you told me,” Felix interrupted him. His eyes flicked to the pistol at Inoue’s hip then back to the man’s face. He leaned back, exuding confidence. “Got the message.”

“I hope you did.” Inoue let the dog hop off the examining table and snapped off his latex gloves. “Then I suppose it is time for you to get to your job. Tonight, at twenty-one hundred hours, come to my tent.”

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

“Huh. You actually got me a gun.” Felix lifted the rifle that came with his armor and held it up against the light. It wasn’t complete shit – UNSC issue field rifle, MK.IV – but it wasn’t exactly top of the line either. “Basic stuff.”

“You are free to lift the equipment of anyone you kill,” Inoue said, watching him kit up. They stood in the middle of what passed for his living room. The chest had been wheeled out again and was quickly emptied as Felix pulled everything on. Extra ammo went into the armor, grenades got clipped to his hip, and Felix replaced his busted hardlight shield emitter with a tazer.

His Kevlar undersuit was still in one piece, at least, but the gel layer under it had suffered a leak. If Felix had another high-velocity impact again, the gel wouldn’t catch him. And his actual armor… well, the less said, the better.

 _Fucking ugly,_ Felix thought as he examined himself in the mirror that he nagged Inoue into bringing out for him. The front half was okay, if scratched up, but the backside looked squashed. He looked like a clay model that got dropped. This wouldn’t make anyone take him seriously, much less scare. It was fucking embarrassing.

He considered his gun again. Then he pointed it at Inoue.

To his credit, the man didn’t panic. He didn’t say anything and stared down the gun instead, gaze level.

“Not scared?” he asked, his aim shifting from Inoue’s head to his chest.

“Kill me and you kill yourself.”

“That’s not what people usually say.”

Inoue looked away. “I’m not worried about dying.”

 _Not worried – or don’t care?_ Felix lowered his gun. He wasn’t sure how Inoue detonated the bomb and he wasn’t in a gambling mood.  “Pretty fatalistic for a vet.”

“War brings out new things in all of us,” Inoue replied. He glanced down to the empty chest. “Are you done?”

“As prepared as I can be,” Felix shrugged, giving his rifle a little swing. He waggled his eyebrows a little. “So – should I sneak outta here like it’s a walk of shame?”

“You should leave quietly, yes,” Inoue said, refusing to be baited. He folded his arms behind his back primly and gave the door a pointed glance. “Now would be preferable.”

“Aw, not even a good-bye kiss?”

Inoue looked at him witheringly and Felix huffed a laugh. “I’m going, I’m going,” he said, waving, “don’t get so twisted. Sit tight, doc.”

Felix brushed by Inoue as he walked to the door and the vet grunted as Felix jarred his shoulder against his. Armored up, he was a good head taller than the man and probably a damn sight heavier.

 _Don’t be petty,_ said a voice that sounded like Locus.

 _Shut up,_ Felix sniped back mentally. He left the tent and slipped into the night, heading for the jungle where Locus last disappeared.

_I’m back, bitch._

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited a small detail that slipped my mind when writing Ch.2. The planet Melody has lower oxygen content in its air, making it non-breathable for humans. Locus has to use a mask that converts the excess CO2 in the air into O2 for him to move around. This detail was edited in Ch. 2 and I go into more detail here. You don’t really need to reread, the change was minor.
> 
> We have fanart! There's these two pieces of [Locus and Felix](https://contraloci.tumblr.com/post/172001142473/anemoiarts-surprise-again-contraloci-ive) by [anemoiarts](https://anemoiarts.tumblr.com/post/171776935698/surprise-again-contraloci-ive-been-re-reading), and this piece of Locus reading to Felix in the hospital by kananeski

Ch. 8

_I didn’t make it in time._

Locus curled up in his seat, feeling light-headed. He touched his face and it felt like his hands were touching someone else – like he wasn’t really in his body. He felt as if he was doing everything a half-step behind – leaving the camp, finding _A'rynasea,_ climbing in, sitting down… there was a lag between his body’s choices and his brain.

His hands felt so cold.

_Should have moved faster._

Locus tallied down the day’s events. He had been at the tea stand. He asked questioned. Then he looked for someone else – the woman, the UNSC veteran Ayesha Hailey – and she told him to look in the temporary residential section. He’d gone there and –

_Hadn’t made it in time._

The woman – she had been Park – shot a man. Locus didn’t know his name. The man with her – Chan, that had been Chan – took the hostage. And the last one – Sydney – held the crowd back.

If he had been quicker on the uptake, then that could have been avoided.

Locus breathed in. Then he exhaled, feeling as if his entire body would rattle apart.

Maybe he should have asked about the dead man. Was that was normal people did? They felt bad about messing up like that. They asked about him, offered their condolences, and tried to amend the situation. They got shaken up by the fact he died, not by the fact that they failed.

_“It has been fifteen minutes since you entered the ship. We have not moved.”_

The computer’s soft voice jolted Locus into reality. “Yes?” he said dumbly.

_“Do you want to input coordinates?”_

“Yes,” Locus said again, then he shook himself. “Take us back to Melody. Usual coordinates.”

_“Affirmative.”_

_A'rynasea_ sailed up from the jungle. Locus leaned back and closed his eyes. The hunt had ended anticlimactically – there had been no fight this time, not even the smallest struggle – but his heart hammered like he’d run a marathon. He was tired, so tired, but he couldn’t sleep.

“ _A'rynasea.”_

_“Yes?”_

“Play white noise. Set One A.”

_“Affirmative.”_

The sound of rain filled the bridge. It overcame the blood pounding in his ears and Locus was lulled back to a comfortable and familiar numbness. He pulled his crossbow to his lap and wiped it down.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

_“You are such a douche!”_

_The door to their hotel room slammed open with a bang. Felix stomped in, threw off the duffle on his shoulder, and kicked the door shut behind him. The duffle fell with the heavy metal clatter of guns._

_Locus didn’t look up from his book. Jane had just met Mr Rochester and he intended to finish the chapter before he stopped._

_“Are you even listening to me?!”_

_“No,” he replied succinctly. Felix made an aggravated noise and kicked something. It went flying but didn’t come near Locus or the bed. It struck the wall adjacent instead and he looked up to check what it was before continuing to read._

_That ottoman had been an eyesore anyway._

_“Locus, don’t you fucking ignore me! You fucking set me up, you knew what was going to happen!”_

_He licked his thumb, turned the page, and imagined that Felix’s shrill voice was what Jane must’ve sounded like. It livened up the experience. “I told you what I expected to happen,” he said neutrally, “you just ignored me.”_

_“Bullshit!”_

_Something else went flying. It broke the mirror and shards tumbled onto the carpet. Locus frowned briefly – the room deposit was coming out of **their** joint account. But he continued to read. Felix would work himself through eventually._

_“You’re such a piece of shit partner! I fucking needed you there and you left me high and dry, you fucking **psycho**!”_

_Locus went cold._

_Even through the depths of his anger, Felix seemed to realize what he’d said. He took a half-step back as Locus met his gaze over the top of his book, but his expression quickly hardened. “Yeah, you heard me,” he snapped, “fucking psycho. Crazy! Insane, demented, lunatic –“_

_Locus surged off the bed before he could even think about it. His entire body felt cold, but his blood pounded in his ears like a hot, wet beat. He was on Felix before he could jerk away and he wrapped his hands around his neck and slammed him back against the wall._

_Felix kicked at him, but Locus pressed his body against his and gave him no leverage. Felix tried to push off against the wall instead, but Locus squeezed until an ugly flush crawled up his thin cheeks. Felix tried to sputter something but Locus choked that out of him too._

_Aside from the occasional thumps of Felix’s shoes meeting the wall, the entire confrontation was silent. Locus didn’t say anything. He just breathed heavily, staring Felix down, until he stopped trying to pry Locus’ fingers off his neck._

_After a few more seconds, Locus dropped him._

_Felix fell to his hands and knees and hunched over, gasping and coughing. He touched his neck, now covered in red handprints. By tomorrow, they’d be a deep purple._

_Locus turned away and sat back down. Picked up his book. This time, however, Jane’s emotional melodrama no longer seized his attention. He stared at the flowery words unseeingly, trying to read until he realized he’d been staring at one sentence for over a minute. Disgusted, Locus dog-eared the page and set it down._

_“Are you done?” he asked, crossing his arms._

_“Fuck… you…” Felix gasped from the floor. It lacked the usual vitriol, though, and Locus knew he was done fighting. For now. “Fuck, did you have to squeeze so fucking **hard**?”_

_“Maybe you’ll remember it better next time,” Locus said, watching him pick himself up from the floor, straighten his rumpled shirt, and attempt to look dignified with a purpling ring around his neck. “What happened?”_

_“…there were more people than expected,” Felix admitted sulkily. He avoided Locus’ gaze and slunk into the bathroom. “You should have been there.”_

_“I warned you,” Locus replied, unforgiving. “You did things your own way and look where it got you.”_

_“Well, maybe if you weren’t so fucking stubborn –“_

_“I told you there were too many people for us to effectively handle and that we were better off waiting for a few days.”_

_“I’m fucking sick of this place. I don’t want to **wait** two more days!”_

_“That doesn’t matter.”_

_Felix emerged from the bathroom, expression rebellious. “Aren’t you fucking bothered?” he demanded. He tore his gloves off and threw them at the duffle. He worked at his tie next and snarled as his impatient fingers failed to untie it. “This fucking place – this fucking, stinking city!”_

_“If the mission requires we –“_

_“Fuck that!” Felix tore the tie off and threw it after his gloves. “I know you fucking hate this place as much as I do!”_

_“And I just told you – that doesn’t matter.”_

_“Oh yeah? Is that why you’re reading Jane Eyre again?”_

_Locus covered the book protectively. “That has nothing to do with this.”_

_“You always fucking read the most boring shit when you’re on edge. I want us out of here. I want to leave this piece of shit city. I’m fucking done with this bullshit and I am fucking **done** with looking at that fucking statue outside!”_

_Locus glanced at the windows. They had their curtains drawn no matter the time of day. Behind it, he knew they’d get a full view of the centerpiece of the Ritz-Darling hotel’s lawn; the Harvest Battles Memorial._

_“Ignore it.”_

_“Oh yeah, just **ignore** the fucking **thing** that reminds us every day of the war. Great idea, Locus, I hadn’t thought of that! What’s your next brilliant suggestion, wise guy? Should we get out our medals? The badges? Maybe we can fucking plan a day trip and look at all the names of our dead squad mates for the shits and giggles!”_

_Felix looked like a trapped animal searching for a way out. His eyes flicked from corner to corner and he was bristling, begging for a fight, for something to sink his claws and teeth into. His entire body trembled with energy that’d built up after days of ignoring the memorial._

_Locus took a deep breath. Hitting Felix was only as satisfying as the brief moment it lasted. After that, there would be days of healing, bitching, and reduced efficiency from him. It wasn’t worth it. It. Wasn’t. Worth it._

_“I’m not doing this,” he said, pulling his book closer._

_Felix just about tore his hair out. “No – no! You don’t get to do that, Locus! You don’t get to space out and go into your head and leave me here! You think I can’t tell when you’re doing that?”_

_“I can tell when you’re trying to goad me,” Locus said flatly. “It won’t work.”_

_“It’s better than you going fucking catatonic in there, asshole! Wake up, Locus! No – **Sam**! Sam Ortez, that’s your fucking name, wake up! – wake up! –_

_wake up_

_wake up_

_“Wake up.”_

Locus lurched forward as he snapped out of sleep so quickly that he disoriented himself. His head spun painfully for a hot second as he blinked, seeing two. Eventually, the room settled down and he realized where he was.

 _A'rynasea._ The bridge. His crossbow was still in his lap. He must have drifted off. No matter how hard he tried though, Locus couldn’t remember _when._

_“Are you well?”_

_A'rynasea’s_ cool voice made him look up. “Fine,” he croaked, feeling the furthest thing from it. “Location?”

_“We have arrived on the planet Melody.”_

“Oh.” Locus put the crossbow on the console and straightened. He immediately regretted it when his back flared with intense pain. Nothing felt wet, so the stitches must still be holding, but he didn’t feel too hot either.

Everything just… _ached._

His screwed his eyes shut for a moment and the bridge lights played behind his eyelids like supernovas writ small. Snatches of Felix’s face and voice played in his head, brought to the surface by a dream he couldn’t clearly recall.

Locus rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm until they felt raw. Not even his sleep was peaceful anymore.

 _A'rynasea_ slipped into its cavern. Locus stashed away his weapons and armor, taking only the crossbow with him, put on his oxygen mask, and swung out of the ship. His back flared again, punishing him for his careful ignorance of his body’s malfunctions. As Locus watched, his ship delicately flew up into its usual nook and cloaked, effectively hidden from the world until he needed it again.

He puttered around the cave for a few more minutes anyway. He walked around the cave’s perimeter to check for people who weren’t there and searched for bugs that didn’t exist. The only footsteps that disturbed the interior of the cave were his, belonging to the previous times he stalked the darkness despite knowing that it was an exercise in futility.

 _A'rynasea_ beeped as he passed under it for the third time. For a ship computer that had no personality matrix, it managed to pull off impatience very well. Locus slunk away for good that time.

He automatically set down the path for Wode. It was a ten kilometer hike down a mountain and it was night time. A sensible man might have turned around and taken shelter in his ship until the sun was up.

Instead, Locus set down the mountain under the pale moonlight. Melody was a gentler planet than Chorus was in a lot of ways. Sweet had explained it to him once, when Locus was still new and not yet sure of what he could do to help. It was an older planet and older things, as a general rule, tended to be more worn down. Its mountains were less jagged. Its jungles were thinner, its temperature was milder, and the people who settled down on it seemed to reflect that.

Really, Melody should have been the planet that was colonized, if it weren’t for the fact that it didn’t have enough oxygen in its atmosphere for the air to be breathable.

Sweat trickled down his temple. Locus pulled off his flannel since there was no one else around to see his injuries. He tied it around his waist, leaving only his thin cotton tank top, but even that felt like a wool blanket in the humidity. There wasn’t even rain to make up for the heat. For a moment, Locus thought about going back and donning his armor – it was environmentally controlled, he would be comfortably room temperature the entire time – but that was wishful thinking. It would only invite disaster if the people of Wode saw it.

And, he would begrudgingly admit, that he wore it too often.

More sweat gathered, this time on the back of his neck. His tank top clung to him unpleasantly, feeling like a damp second skin, and he considered just pulling it off too.

 _Exposing injuries to unsanitary environments,_ he reminded himself dully, _is how you get infections._

But damn if it wasn’t tempting.

The night air was rife with noise. Insects buzzed at each other busily and the trees shook as nocturnal monkeys swung from branch to branch. The moon became the brief backdrop for two quarreling birds that swooped around each other, chattering angrily, until they took their argument into the dark depths of the jungle. Locus was barely a blip in the landscape as he entered the thick foliage at the foot of the mountain and ghosted through the heavy growths, avoiding animals when he could.

The rest of the walk was mindless. Focusing on his surroundings and cataloguing the noises – the soft growl of a jaguar, the brush of a tree snake, the inquisitive hoot of a monkey, all the myriad sounds that the wild made – let him avoid other, less welcome thoughts. It was a tried-and-true method for ignoring the worst of his head’s dark corners, and Locus had too many corners to avoid.

He reached one of the groves he liked to hunt deer in and paused. He touched his crossbow and examined the clearing, wondering.

He had been away from Melody for just over three days – a half day to go to Chorus, another day spent finding his targets and eliminating them, then another to find the stragglers. Another half day to come back.

It was the longest he spent away from Wode. He hadn’t dared to take long trips when he had been so hurt. Now, though…

Locus reached up to push a vine out of the way and paid for it when his shoulder screamed at the motion. He winced and lifted his other arm instead, but the deed was done. He spent a few silent moments curled in pain on the jungle floor, regretting his choice to forego anesthesia, until the agony receded enough for his limbs to work.

Breathing a little harder this time, Locus set his jaw and forged on. He could bag a deer, but taking it back to camp would exacerbate his wounds   and possibly even open his stitches again. That was more trouble than it was worth. He would just have to make up for his lack of contributions with something else.

If he was this close to a grove, then Wode had to be only a few kilometers away now. That fact, and the pounding pain, distracted Locus enough that he didn’t pay as much attention to the jungle as he should have.

His only warning was the creak of dead leaves.

 _Turn around,_ his instincts screamed at him but Locus was a split-second too slow on the uptake. He didn’t manage to turn fully before a heavy weight dropped out of the treetops on him, knocking him off his feet.

Exhaustion disappeared and was replaced by a spike of adrenaline so sharp that it felt like he had a bolt of ice lodged inside of his chest. The air grew still, sound dulled down to an indistinct roar, and Locus thrust his arm out, stopping the snapping teeth of the jaguar inches from his throat. It was half the weight of a man but it was all concentrated on his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs, and it was all muscle under the fur. The cat whipped to the side, lightning fast, and Locus pulled his crossbow up.

 The cat recovered from its failed ambush. It was nothing but a liquid black shadow in the darkness and it leapt at him again. It didn’t go for his neck this time.

A different sort of pain bloomed as it sank its teeth into the meat of his forearm. He could feel it pulling already, aiming to take him off his feet again, but Locus took advantage of the closeness.

He shoved the crossbow into the closest part of it and released the bolt. The jaguar yowled and let him go immediately. Locus retreated as soon as it did, cradling his arm to his chest, and hefted his crossbow closer. He couldn’t reload it, not without taking his attention of the beast, but it was heavy and solid. A good swing from it would crack anyone’s skull.

The cat backed away a little, panting. In the dappled moonlight that illuminated the ground, he thought he saw his bolt stuck in the meat of its right thigh.

They circled each other warily. Locus didn’t want to kill it – the fight wasn’t worth the meat or the pelt – and it seemed to weigh its options.

 _Go,_ he thought at it, as if it would make it retreat. _I don’t care about you._

The cat stopped. Locus hoped that it decided its wounds were too grievous to keep fighting, but instead it sprang at him again.

He sidestepped it, grabbed the base of his crossbow with both hands despite the flare of pain, and swung it straight at the vulnerable column of its extended neck.

There was a dull _crunch._

The slim body of the jaguar fell down limply, its head at an unnatural angle. Locus pulled his crossbow free before its weight could pull it out of his hands and considered the corpse at his feet.

He hadn’t wanted to kill it. He would have been happy to let it disappear back into the foliage, but it had attacked him. Why? Why would it decide that its injury was unimportant enough that it would risk another charge? He’d encountered the other predators of Melody before and they usually avoided attacking adult humans.

What had been wrong with this one, then?

Locus touched its ribs. It wasn’t starving, so hunger couldn’t have driven it.

He considered leaving it behind for the scavengers, but it felt too pitiful for him. Against his better judgement, Locus carefully maneuvered it onto his uninjured shoulder and took it with him instead.

The remaining hike back to Wode was considerably hazier. Locus tore off the sleeve of his flannel and wrapped his arm with it, stemming the bleeding, but it was a poor replacement for biofoam and stitches. But he didn’t have any biofoam on him – it was too questionable – and he wasn’t about to turn around, find his ship, and attempt to stitch himself again.

Without any other option, he pushed towards the town. Approximately an hour passed when Locus reached its outskirts and the gates, usually open during the day, were closed to keep the predators out. He tapped it twice – one long and one short – and a small slot in the gates opened.

“Who is it?” someone asked from the other side. Locus recognized him.

“Delaney,” he said, voice rough, “it’s Sam.”

“Sam? Oh, hey, you were gone for a bit – hold on. I’ll get the door.”

The slot closed. A door opened instead and Locus trudged inside the booth that was attached to the interior of the walls that protected Wode and formed the border for the environmental shields.

Delaney flicked on another set of lights. He was a young man – a boy, to be frank – in his late teens and still had the smattering of acne to prove it. Dressed in jeans, a soft sweater, and armed with only a radio, he was part of Wode’s regular night watch. If he was telling the truth, he had been since he was fifteen years old.

When he saw Locus in proper light, his eyes widened. “Oh my God,” he breathed, “dude – what happened? Do you need a doctor? I can radio one now, shit –“

“It’s fine,” Locus grunted, shifting the jaguar a little. “I got into a small fight, but it was handled.”

“A small -?” His eyes flicked between the cat and his face. _“Dude.”_

“Is Doctor Joannes here?”

“Dude!”

“Is that a yes?” Locus frowned.

“Do _not_ tell me you killed a fucking jaguar with your bare hands.” Delaney clutched his radio to his chest, eyes wide. “Holy shit.”

“I didn’t. I killed with my crossbow.”

“That’s still badass – shit. Did you get hurt?”

“That’s why I asked for Doctor Joannes,” Locus said, thinking about the blood slowly seeping through his flannel sleeve.

“Oh – right! Yeah, okay, I’m on that right now – uh, Joannes is still here, yeah. Look, man, Sam, my dude, you have to tell me this story when you can. You just walked outta here for, like, three days and you come back looking like fucking Batman –“

“Batman?”

“- with a _jaguar_ on your shoulders like that’s a thing that happens –“

Locus cast his eyes around the booth. Most places he had been with guard booths like this kept them featureless. Not this one, though. Delaney had decorated the walls with dozens of colorful posters from movies and bands, while the single desk he manned for hours was covered in little figurines, candy wrappers, and a dinosaur of a computer. Aside from the secondary lights he turned on for Locus, there also were the soft fairy lights that he’d taped to the walls to provide illumination.

He remembered asking why they were up. Delaney had told him that they were softer on the eyes.

His examination of the booth, however, found him something else. It was an oxygen mask hanging from a hook, seemingly untouched. Locus narrowed his eyes. “Delaney,” he said, cutting through his chatter, “where is your mask?”

“My – what?” Delaney touched his bare face, a touch of guilt flittering across his young face. “Oh. Um.”

Locus’ gaze pointedly dragged to the mask again. “You opened the slot without your mask on.”

It wasn’t a question.

Delaney fidgeted. “It was only for a quick question,” he tried to weakly explain, but stopped when Locus gave him a withering look.

“You should always have it on,” he said. Delaney _never_ wore his mask, even though he was only a door away from the oxygen-starved world beyond Wode. It was a combination of laziness and a sense of invincibility and no matter how much Locus pointed it out, he never seemed to grasp it.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I just… yeah. You know what? Joannes is in – not the hospital, try her place. You should go see her.”

He gestured at the door, ducking his head. Locus thought he saw the tips of his ears go bright red, but he was too tired to think about what it meant. His point made, he nodded and shuffled towards the door that led into the town. It was unlocked and he stepped out, still carrying his unwanted prize.

He thought he heard a soft “thanks” from the booth, but the door was heavy and he just let it close behind him instead.

Wode rarely kept its lights on past sundown. Even though it’d moved past its early days of barely scraping together enough energy to keep life support and other vitals on, years of living life as efficiently as possible had left its mark. Everything was conserved.

Locus navigated by the street lights that Wode kept lit. They were few in number, spaced far apart and used stored solar energy from the day, which was probably why the town was comfortable with letting them run at night. He visited the mess and dropped the body in the overnight cooler that was kept out for any stragglers with contributions they couldn’t get in during the day.

His shoulder ached anew without his burden and Locus slunk towards where Joannes lived. Her status as the leading medical expert of the town technically meant she could live wherever she pleased, but she was humble enough to stay in the shared townhouses with the rest of her medical staff. The townhouses themselves were hastily-erected blocks of three floors without much in the way of design and architecture. Each floor rarely had any actual walls to divide sections off – it saved precious building material that way.

He moved quietly so as to not disturb the other residents, and gently rapped the frame of her sliding door. A light turned on and he saw a form move through the opaque paper screen.

The door slid open a crack and Joannes’ sleepy face appeared. “Wuh… Sam?” she said softly.

“I’m sorry for coming so late,” he said, tone pitched low, “but I have a mild medical problem.”

“Can’t… can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

He unwrapped the flannel sleeve. “It’s your decision,” Locus said, “if you think it can wait, I will come in tomorrow.”

Joannes blinked at him. Then she looked down to where his arm was illuminated by the soft yellow light of her bedside lamp. Her hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh, dear _lord –_ Sam! What happened to you?” Joannes kept her voice quiet but it was more intense now, a hiss more than a whisper, and she pushed her door open further. “Don’t just stand there – come in. This isn’t a mild medical problem. A mild problem is a rash or a cough, not an open _wound!”_

“The bleeding’s mostly handled,” Locus pointed out as he stepped over the threshold of her room. Joannes’ living space was minimal, as he expected, and didn’t have much more than a small bed, a dresser with a lamp, a second larger lamp in the corner, and a large closet. There was also a standing bookshelf next to her bed that was practically choked with books. Locus peered at their spines as he followed Joannes.

They were mostly medical texts but he thought he saw a couple classics hidden among them. Joannes rattling around distracted him from further survey.

She knelt next to her bed and pulled out a hidden drawer under it. Locus blinked when she pulled out a giant kit from it.

“Really?”

“You never know when it’s necessary,” Joannes said. “Never mind that – just _how_ did you get that? And turn on the light over there.”

“I had a small debacle on my way here,” Locus said. He followed her pointed finger and turned on the second lamp in the corner, flooding the room with light. “A jaguar.”

“Jesus Christ,” Joannes muttered under her breath. She pulled out a bottle of disinfect, cotton rounds, bandages, antibiotic ointment, and tweezers, and set them all on her bed. Then she snapped on a pair of latex gloves. “Alright, c’mere.”

There was nowhere to actually sit. After a small moment of hesitation, he gingerly sat on her bed with an apologetic glance. Joannes waved it off immediately, gesturing for his arm instead. He held it out.

“You’re lucky this isn’t worse,” she said after examining it. “It’s on the deep side, but it didn’t touch the bone or any important veins. If you don’t mess it up, this should heal pretty cleanly.”

“Hence, mild.”

“Oh, shut it.” Joannes picked up a cotton round with tweezers and dipped it in the disinfect. Then she cleaned off the dried blood around the puncture wounds. “So, where were you?”

The non-sequitur caught him off-guard. “I was busy with personal business,” he said vaguely. “Nothing too heavy,” he said, catching her searching expression. “Though I do need you to look at my stitches again.”

Her expression quickly became suspicious. “You did _not,”_ Joannes said crossly.

“Not what?” he replied innocently.

“You tore your stitches,” she accused.

He avoided her eyes. “It was unavoidable,” he finally said, a little prim.

“How bad is it?” she demanded immediately.

“Not too bad, it was only a mild problem. I fixed most of it.”

Joannes dropped his arm. “You what?” she asked, aghast.

“I repaired the issue,” he said.

“No. _No._ Don’t tell me you not only tore your stitches, but redid them yourself.”

“I had a guide,” Locus said, thinking about _Silly Sewing: The Sucker’s Steps towards Solving Stitches._ “It was very informative.”

“A guide, he says,” Joannes said, closing her eyes as if suffering deeply. “He used a guide. Let me see.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.” Locus said, debating if she really needed to look. “Really.”

“Let me _see.”_

“It was –“

“Sam, if you say this was _mild_ one more time, I swear to God –“

He turned obligingly before Joannes could continue. She bit her tongue just barely, gave him a glower, and pulled down the strap of his tank top.

A stunned silence commenced.

Locus shifted. “Doctor?”

Joannes didn’t reply. When he turned to look at her, he saw her face torn between fascination and hopeless exasperation.

“Doctor?” he repeated.

“Sam,” she said, her voice delicate, “please, oh, please, tell me you didn’t do this left-handed.”

He wisely didn’t answer. His silence was confirmation enough.

“Jesus. _Christ.”_

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

Once his injuries were handled, Locus slunk away from Joannes’ place with her warnings echoing in his head. Exhaustion dragged his eyelids down and he reluctantly made for the other townhouses that were down the street. Joannes lived in Housing A – he had been given space in one in Housing D but he’d rarely made use of it. It felt invasive to sleep in there, knowing what he was and what he could do.

He encountered a few more members of the night watch as he walked. They waved to him as he passed by and Locus waved back. He appeared in the streets in the nighttime as often as he did in the day, and they had gotten so accustomed to it that they stopped questioning why.

Sometimes, that fact bothered him for the same reason that sleeping in the townhouses did.

The further down he went, the less complete the townhouses became. Housing C and D weren’t finished, unlike their two neighbors, A and B. Instead, they were ramshackle mixtures of tents, half-built buildings, and open areas only covered by tarp roofs. They would be finished slowly over time, but the town’s resources were tight and they were still working on setting up production lines.

Locus pushed aside the heavy wool blanket that covered the doorway for Housing D. The guard on rotation, Indranil, relaxed once he recognized him. He wasn’t as talkative as Delaney – he grunted, waved his hand, and went back to the crossword he was doing.

 Locus nodded and walked on. He counted the halls as he walked past them, turned on the twelfth and last one, and then counted the doors until he reached the eleventh doorway. The tin door creaked as he pushed it open and Locus lowered it shut so it didn’t bang.

The five others he shared the room with didn’t seem to be here. Privately relieved, Locus slipped towards his cot. It had no bedding – he’d given it to a family who had a child on the way – but he’d slept on worse before. He closed the plastic privacy curtain around his cot to give himself the illusion of solitude.

His back protested when he laid down. Laying on his front wasn’t a reprieve either – his bruised ribs creaked sadly and the cot’s metal frame dug into his stomach. Locus compromised by laying down on his less-injured side, crossbow still in hand, and tried to find some sleep.

Instead, he heard the door open again.

 _Ignore it,_ he told himself. Despite that, his ears pricked to listen.

The person who’d entered stepped lightly and carefully. They moved around – and then a cot creaked. It was the one next to his.

“Ammar?” they inquired softly.

There were only them in here. “No,” Locus whispered, “Sam.”

“Oh. Sam – it’s Sweet. I was looking for Ammar, have you seen him?”

“No. I only got here tonight.”

“Huh.” The cot creaked again. “You were gone for a while.”

“Had business.”

Sweet was tactful enough to not ask what. Instead, he said, “Are you okay?”

“I…” He meant to say _I’m fine_ but it was a bold-faced lie. He was so – “…tired.”

“Yeah. You sound like it. Do you want to talk about it?”

_Talk about it?_

What would he say? How could he say it? How did you explain years of intense trauma and the resulting years of increasingly poor choices, or how it felt to miss someone you knew was bad for you? How did you say _I hurt people and I don’t think I can stop_ without sounding insane?

“…sorry,” Sweet said, breaking Locus from his reverie, and he realized he’d been quiet for too long.

“It’s alright,” Locus sighed. “I was just thinking about some old… stuff. Regrets.”

“Regrets, huh?” Sweet sounded a little rueful. “I think we’ve all got our fair share of those. You know how Wode came around, right?”

“I heard. You left because of the war.”

“Yeah. It was… it was bad. Melody doesn’t have the war but it’s not really… _home._ We’re trying our best but stuff’s not easy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

Locus closed his eyes bitterly. He thought of Chorus again – its suffocating rainforests, the soft, damp earth, and the jagged canyons that hid in the undergrowth. He thought about the cities that he would occasionally find. Many of them were broken by bombs and artillery, but many more had simply been emptied out as their people fled deeper into the jungle to escape the guns and the soldiers who carried them. How many had been important? How many more had been precious homes? What was it like to lose that?

He wished he could understand.

“Where on Chorus are you from?” he asked quietly.

“…Edis,” Sweet said, “but that’s the registered name. Towazi is its real name. I’m from Situ in south-east Towazi.”

 _Edis…_ “It was destroyed,” Locus said.

Sweet sighed sadly. “Yeah, it was. Chorus’ superpower to a crater, just like that. I lost family. Um. My brother – Nuru – was working in Kilumu when the bombs dropped. It’s the same story for everyone, to be honest. We’ve all lost family. You?”

“Me?”

“Have you lost anyone?”

Locus couldn’t answer. How long had it been since he last saw his family? It would be nearly decades now. After he lost contact with them in the war, he just… hadn’t picked up the habit again. He couldn’t remember their faces anymore. It had been only him and Felix for so long that…

He crushed the thought before it could continue.

“Don’t really have anyone,” he answered. “It happens.”

Sweet made a melancholy noise. “I suppose it does,” he said, almost wistful. A brief silence fell between them before the cot creaked and Sweet stood up. “Well, I still have to find Ammar. So I’ll just leave you, Sam. Sleep well.”

“Good night,” Locus said automatically. He listened to Sweet leave the room and continue down the hall until the tapping of his steps could no longer be heard. Despite his departure, his words lingered.

A family… a family… what family did he have? His father was dead, but his mother was alive – is? He didn’t know. He had two siblings, a brother and a sister, both older than him. His mother and sister were both career soldiers. He had three uncles and two aunts, and so many cousins that he couldn’t remember them all. He had a huge family, but it was a family of ghosts and forgotten memories. The only thing that tethered them to him was blood.

As for a home… he had grown up on Earth. He had been born in Mexico City, had spent his childhood in a UNSC base in South Korea, his teenage years in another UNSC base in Greece, and then left Earth to join the military he’d grown up around his entire life.

Yet these memories were distant, as if he were viewing them from behind dirty glass. They belonged to a different lifetime, a different person. They belonged to Samuel Ortez, not Locus.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙


	9. Chapter 9

Ch. 9

Felix didn’t immediately stalk after Locus, despite his initial instincts. While it was tempting to turn over every leaf and rock on this shitball until he found him, he had to consider things realistically. The Locus he’d seen hadn’t been armored and his weapon had been painfully archaic - but at the end of the day, it was _Locus._

Several years at his side taught Felix a thing or two about underestimating a guy who could be calm when the mafia was trying to kill him. He couldn’t go against him while wearing armor held together with spit and prayers, or while using a gun that was old enough to have grandchildren.

He set his eyes on easier prey instead. While Felix doubted that the bandits that lived on Chorus had anything of value, the people that he and Locus brought here were a different story. Sure, most of them died thanks to that fuckwit Doyle, but a few of them were still alive and prowling around.

He tinkered with his helmet radio, listening for the particular buzz of his work frequency. It took him longer than he liked, but his radio spit and crackled before a few familiar voices filtered through the speakers.

_“…ello? Hello? Can you hear me?”_

“Hey,” Felix said. He rolled his neck leisurely and weighed the suppressor in his hand. Of the few things to survive inside his armor, of course it had to be this little sweetheart. “Took you long enough.”

_“Felix?”_

“The one and only.”

 _“We thought you died.”_ Was it just him, or did the douchebag on the other end sound disappointed?

“There’s nothing on this piece of shit planet that can kill me. Who is this?”

_“Blake. Captain Myers died in Armonia, I had to take command –“_

“Yeah. Don’t care. Where are you?”

_“Why do you need to know?”_

“Uh, so I have the few people on this planet who don’t want to kill me around me?” When the radio was suspiciously silent, Felix narrowed his eyes and added, “I’m also your paycheck, jackass.”

_“…sending the coordinates to you now, sir.”_

“Fucking lovely.” Felix watched his HUD light up with a message notification as he finished screwing the suppressor onto his rifle. “How many of you are there?”

_“Only six of us left.”_

“Armed?”

_“Suited and armed.”_

“Great.” Felix took aim at a distant bird. When he squeezed the trigger, there was almost no noise save for the gentle, satisfying _click-hiss_ that echoed in his ears as he watched the bird’s head explode. “This shouldn’t take me long then.”

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

It was a good thing the comm tower that the coordinates led to wasn’t far from Armonia. The lack of a Pelican made planetary navigation more than a little tricky otherwise.

His radio crackled. _“Sir?”_

“Yeah?”

_“Is Locus with you?”_

Felix scowled under his helmet. “No.”

He wasn’t too far now. Felix blinked sweat out of his eyes, cursing his suit’s malfunctioning environmental controls. Heaving around metal armor became a lot less entertaining when you were walking in an ocean of your own sweat. The humidity was inescapable, unavoidable – if it got any hotter, heatstroke was a dangerous possibility.

But fifteen minutes more and this would be all behind him.

_“Where are you now?”_

“I’m almost there – shit!” The ground under his feet loosened and Felix  flailed before he caught himself. Rocks trickled away as he straightened, adjusting himself and checking that no one was around to catch that.

_“Sir?”_

“Don’t worry, that was…” An idea occurred to him then. A cruel light lit up in his eyes as Felix smirked slowly. “… actually, no, belay that. I think I sprained my ankle. It’s bad.”

He feigned a few grunts of pain. “Yeah… gonna need one of you guys to come over and help.”

The silence dragged.

“Paycheck,” Felix snapped.

The radio crackled with a long sigh. _“…Ezekiel is coming over to pick you up.”_

“Tell him –“

_“Her.”_

“- her to hurry up.”

There was no reply. Felix glared at his radio, daring them to say anything else, but the conversation was over. He sent them his location and then walked into the underbrush, melting into the dappled leaves.

It took Ezekiel a little over fifteen minutes to arrive and she was alone. She didn’t have time to poke around before Felix sunk a bullet into her skull. Ezekiel fell over with a small gurgle, dead before she even hit the ground, and Felix waited for a few minutes to see if anyone else was around, his rifle at the ready.

Two minutes passed and no one came. A bird trilled overhead.

 _They really sent her alone,_ Felix thought, shaking his head a little. _Idiots._

He walked over to her corpse and kicked her over. She wasn’t wearing Scout armor – a pity – but Recon would have to do. The helmet visor had a neat bullet hole in it, rendering it essentially useless without a replacement. But she _was_ carrying a MK.VI rifle that was leagues better than his current gun. Felix swapped out the suppressors – thank fuck for universal equipment standards in the UNSC – and began to pry his chest plate off.

The internal clamps struggled to come loose thanks to their warped shape, but Felix dug his nails in until his armor popped off. He was pulling on her leg armor when he found the discreet knife holstered to her hip.

Whistling, Felix pulled it out. It was a hunting knife with a blade approximately as long as his hand. He tossed it a few times before holstering it again. That would be useful.

It took him five minutes to get it all assembled and after a moment’s consideration, he pulled on her helmet too.

Ezekiel under the helmet was a woman somewhere in her thirties, with a buzz-cut and a heart-shaped face. Felix didn’t recognize her. He dressed her in his own armor then slung her body over his shoulder.

Her helmet radio crackled. _“Ezekiel, did you find him?”_

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

He arrived at the tower that the remaining five had hunkered down in. A Warthog was parked under the tower and a guy stood sentry at its gun to watch the perimeter. He was the first one to catch sight of Felix.

Felix stumbled and dropped the corpse. He bent over and the exertion wasn’t actually feigned this time. In a sane world, he would be resting, not fucking lugging around corpses for a kilometer and half in a jungle.

“Hey – Ezekiel! What happened?” Someone else – not the guy on the Warthog – trotted over.

Still looking down to hide the crack in his visor, Felix scanned his surroundings. Aside from the guy on the Warthog and this one in front of them, there were  four others scattered around the tower. Two of them didn’t have any guns on them, but the other did. Felix pitched his voice for a passing mimicry of a woman.  “He just – he fucking went crazy. I had to put him down.”

“Shit… hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Felix adjusted his grip on his gun.

The guy in front of him stepped closer, his hand stretched out. “You sound a little funny.”

_One…_

“Yeah?” This time, Felix didn’t pretend.

_Two…_

“Hey, wait…” Confusion filtered into the guy’s voice.

_Three._

“I guess you’re right.” Felix darted forward, pulled the knife from his hip, and sunk it hilt-deep into his unarmored side. The guy stiffened with a gasp and Felix used his distraction to spin him around and hold him in place while he lifted his rifle. He aimed at the guy on the Warthog, who didn’t have time to realize what was happening before he was riddled with bullets.

“It’s not Ezekiel!” his meatshield yelled, recovering from his initial shock. “It’s Felix, he’s turning on - !”

Felix shut him up with a few well-placed bullets to the back of the skull. The remaining four scrambled for cover but Felix killed one who’d been too slow to get up and run. _Three left._

The two that had been armed opened fire on him but their bullets peppered a corpse, not Felix, and he held him close until he could take cover behind a tree instead. He dropped the guy once he was safe and patted him down. A cluster of grenades was on his hip and he unhooked one.

“Thanks, buddy,” Felix muttered as he pulled its pin loose and tossed it over their barricade. A few seconds later, he heard a dull explosion. He peeked out.

At least one of them was dead to the grenade. _Two left._

Felix took aim at the farthest one from him whose cover wasn’t as good as he thought it was. The first shot took out his knee. The second put a bullet through his visor.

_One left._

Felix was about to dart for fresh cover when he heard shouting. “Wait! Wait, hold on!”

“Yeah?” He checked his magazine. Everything looked to be in place.

“I – I want a ceasefire!”

 _Was this guy **serious**? _ “Oh yeah?”

“Yes! I don’t want to fight you, Felix! I – I don’t care about these guys, just don’t kill me! You can take the Warthog or the equipment, anything you want, just-”

He slipped away from the tree he had been taking cover behind and crept to another one, one closer to the voice. When the guy kept babbling, this time about not wanting the money, Felix inched closer again.

“ – didn’t think you were alive, everyone thought you were dead, honest –“

Felix pressed his gun to the back of his helmet hard enough to make him lean forward. The chatter stopped immediately.

“Man,” Felix said with a laugh, “I can’t believe Locus wanted to keep losers like you alive.”

“Please,” the guy said, his voice trembling, “I just want to live.”

“Then you should’ve tried harder.”

Felix pulled the trigger.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

He left the bodies where they were and replaced his helmet for a whole one. Scout, this time, much to his pleasure, though it was in the boring grey that Locus’ troops favored so much. Felix looted the bodies for anything worthwhile and ended up with a small armory for himself. Ammo, grenades, guns… it was all there.

Now, all that was left was finding Locus.

_Where is the one place that Locus would have definitely gone to?_

His HUD lit up and he examined the map it provided. A place where he would have gone to without fail, without compunction, especially when he would need to escape the two armies still after his head…

God, it was so obvious. Locus could be so _predictable_ when it came down to it. Felix punched in the coordinates for _A'rynasea’s_ hangar and got into the Warthog.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

_Isaac leaned dangerously far over the railing, his boots off the ground, and felt a steadying hand land on his back before he tumbled over. He glanced back at Sam briefly before staring forward again._

_Below them, two red specks did donuts on the runways the planes used. They kicked up dust clouds as they went but nobody went out to complain._

_“You see that?” Isaac said, whistling through his teeth in appreciation._

_He didn’t need to ask. Sam already saw. The two red sports cars had rolled in this morning, bringing two richly-dressed people that he heard were private mercenaries on the UNSC’s payroll._

_“Hard not to,” he said._

_Isaac felt the tug on the back of his T-shirt and acquiesced.  He landed with a thump. “Those are supposed to be super expensive. Courtney said they weren’t even out on the market yet.”_

_“Probably.” Sam sounded disinterested, but that was a total sham. Isaac had seen him sneaking looks at the cars too._

_“And they’re just doing donuts with it.”_

_“Money does that.”_

_“Fuck, I’d give a kidney for a ride like that.” Or both his legs. Who needed legs when you had **that** to carry you around everywhere?_

_“It’s not very practical.”_

_Isaac shot Sam an annoyed look. “Oh, yeah? Then what’s your idea of a nice ride?”_

_Sam seemed to consider it. He stayed quiet for so long that Isaac almost opened his mouth to pester him. “Something functional,” Sam said after a pause. “Good for all uses. Efficient. Powerful.”_

_“A muscle car.”_

_Isaac pictured Sam behind the wheel of a muscle car – a Mustang, maybe, if he was a classics kind of guy, or a Barracuda. He’d drive the same way he shot a gun, probably – eyes on the goal, with the wrinkle he got between his brows when he was concentrating, and making it look easy._

_Yeah, Isaac liked that._

_“I suppose,” Sam said, his expression briefly thoughtful. “My sister collected posters of them.”_

_“You could get one after this tour. Considering what they’re expecting us to do, our payroll is, like, stupid high now.”_

_The UNSC needed all the warm bodies they could get to the front lines, but Isaac wasn’t worried. He was going to be just fine, and fucking rich on top of it._

_“Savings are important. Considering the state of our pension right now –“_

_“Oh my God, live a little, Sam.” Isaac rubbed his hand over the buzzed top of his head, guffawing.  “What’s the point of anything if you don’t have a sweet fucking ride?”_

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

 _A'rynasea_ wasn’t in its hangar, but Felix wasn’t too surprised. Locus wasn’t dumb enough to not secure his best ride on the planet right away. It was clear that he thought Felix was dead, however, because he hadn’t changed the codes for anything. Felix could access it all without issue.

_Douchebag._

He closed the door so no one could try to be clever and sneak in as well, and explored the dark space with the flashlight of his helmet. The hangar was mostly empty, as its primary purpose had been to house _A'rynasea._ The computers here had been fried after whatever stunt the sim troopers pulled to mess up the hybrid tech, but Felix wasn’t after that shit.

Instead, he counted the wall panels until he found the one _they_ had hidden their bail-out computer behind.

“Not so smart _now,_ huh?” he whispered as he peeled back the panel and found their – the stash behind it still. Trust Locus to nag, nag, and _nag_ until he went blue in the face, and then forget it when things got hairy.

The fact was that _A'rynasea_ was _their_ ship. And as their ship, it responded to _both_ of them. And right now, Locus didn’t know Felix was alive. Felix pulled out the heavy, briefcase-like computer and sat down on the floor. When he opened it and turned it on, a black command prompt opened for him.

_Password > e8P2cP5Dv#}#8a#Y_

The prompt blinked a few times before it went black again. The computer didn’t immediately self-destruct so Locus hadn’t even erased his files in the ship’s database. Honestly, what the hell was he even _doing?_

_> C:\Ship\Admin2 > command respond ship:Felix_

_> Running database checks… complete._

_> Performing sys checks… complete._

_> Confirming user information… complete._

_> Welcome, Felix._

_> command no record_

_> Command running… complete._

_> No Record confirmed._

_> command locate ship_

_> Command running… complete._

_> Ship: A'rynasea: located. Send coordinates?_

His finger hovered over _enter._ It wasn’t because he had second thoughts or anything, or because he was worried, but rather because this was a _good_ fucking moment to rub into Locus’ face and he _couldn’t._ Thinking it wasn’t as satisfying. If only something was here for him to just…

There was a shuffle outside of the hangar and a _thump._

“Oh, thank fuck,” Felix sighed, standing up. He tracked the noise to be on the opposite side of the hangar door so he could slip outside without being seen without an issue. He stole outside, ears straining for any more noise, and kept his back to the wall.

 _Careful, careful…_ “Don’t fucking move, fucker,” Felix barked, spinning around the corner, his rifle up and ready to shoot.

The guy on the ground stared at him, eyes wide. He looked like utter dogshit; he had nothing but a protective vest on with ragged clothes under it, and his face was covered in ugly bruises. He wasn’t armed. “No!” he screamed, throwing up his arm to shield himself.

Felix lowered his gun after a moment’s thought. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

“I… not far from here. There’s a guy around here, I need your help, please. He’ll kill me – he’ll kill both of us. Let me inside, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Felix considered just shooting him and going back inside. After enough time passed to make the moment suitably tense, he lowered his rifle. “Talk first.”

“There’s this guy,” he immediately said, “he’s been sneaking around here for fucking _ages_ and he just kills everyone he runs into. He doesn’t want anything, doesn’t ask for anything, he just kills everyone he sees. He – he can turn invisible, and I swear I saw it happen –“

“Hold up.” Felix held his hand up. “Invisible?”

“It’s true,” he insisted. “It’s like those spy things you see in the movies. Invisible, just like that.”

“Yeah, sounds crazy alright. Tell you what,” Felix said, “tell me your name and I’ll bring you inside. Deal?”

“Yeah! I’m Julio. You?”

“You can just call me Felix, buddy. Come on, I’ll help you up.”

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

Julio, as it turned out, was a pretty damn good listener.

“…he spent _so_ much time thinking about how _clever_ he was, but clearly he wasn’t smart enough to make sure I was dead before running off. And now I’m back. I’m back and I am ready to make sure he _regrets_ ever trying to turn on me. I mean – you should have heard him. ‘ _We’re both monsters’,_ like we were in some kind of play. It could have been _so_ easy for him to just kill everyone there but _no_ , he had to have his stupid little revelation while everything was going on, all after I saved his life dragging him from wreckage –“

“I don’t really see how this has anything to do with the invisible guy,” Julio said weakly.

Felix spun around, gesturing with his rifle. “It has _everything_ to do with your invisible guy,” he said. “Don’t you get it, Julio? That guy is Locus. The guy who’s been running around this stupid planet, shooting and killing everyone he sees, is Locus. It just goes to show that he’s still the same. Whatever thing was going through his head is just _bullshit._ He doesn’t get that he’s a killer and that he’s always been one, and I’m the only one who actually sees that –“

“He is?” Julio cut in again. “Then – then we need to tell someone, warn them about this lunatic –“

Felix pointed at Julio sharply.

“No, no, _don’t_ interrupt me, man. I’m not fucking done. I’ve had to fucking fall off a stupid alien tower, drag myself to some assfuck nowhere camp in the jungle, and get treated by a guy with more than a few problems in the head for this. Shut up for a few seconds.”

Julio opened his mouth to protest. Felix aimed his rifle at him. Julio closed his mouth.

“So, _as I was saying,”_ Felix continued, “Locus. Locus, Locus, _Locus._ You spend over a decade next to a guy and you think you start understanding him, right? You see him at his best, at his worst, you see all the things he can and can’t do. So, obviously, you start adjusting things so they _work._ You play to your strengths. And Locus’ strength? It’s _killing._ I know that and I know for a _fact_ that he knows that too, except he just won’t admit it to himself. The fact that he thinks he can blame _me_ for what happened? Like I’m the one who’s holding his hand to the trigger? What a fucking joke.”

Felix shook his head and laughed humorlessly. “You get what I’m saying, right, Julio? C’mon, you have to agree with me here.”

He saw the animal fear lurking behind Julio’s eyes. He saw the way he leaned away, like he dearly wanted to run but didn’t dare to. Felix saw it, relished it, and tilted his head to side. “You can talk, man.”

“Uh, yeah,” Julio said quickly. “I agree with you.”

“Speak freely,” Felix said, waving his hand. “Just tell me – Locus killed your friends, right?”

“He didn’t… kill directly,” Julio said cautiously. “He never did that. You’d find people who died from bleeding out, or from falling, or because a wild animal attacked them while they were down.”

“Still killing in the end.”

“…yeah,” Julio said reluctantly. “It’s just a slower death.”

“Glad we can agree on that.” Felix felt sated. He’d gotten out everything he wanted to say, so Julio’s purpose here was pretty much used up. He could go. “So, dude, you said you wanted to find other people, right?”

Hope flared in Julio’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said, straightening.

“You can try,” Felix said, gesturing at the hangar door. “C’mon, get up. I’ll be right after you, buddy.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. Unless you’re getting second thoughts? We could stay here, if that’s what you –“

“No, that’s fine!” Julio scrambled up, though it was hard when he was still so uncoordinated. He stumbled a few steps towards the hangar door. “Are – are you coming with?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be behind you.”

“Okay, yeah. Sure.”

Felix watched him walk towards the door. Just as Julio reached the doorknob, however, Felix lifted his rifle and fired. Julio screamed abortively as he fell forward against the door, smearing the blood spatter there.

“Just kidding,” Felix said. “Thanks for the talk.”

Now that he had the monologue he deserved _and_ loose ends were tied up, Felix could press _enter_ without any issue. Felix smiled as the long string of coordinates appeared on the screen. Once that was done, he connected his helmet to the computer to download its contents. There. Now he had both Locus’ current location and a way to keep himself constantly updated in real-time.

He smashed the computer as soon as he got everything inside. There was no need to leave potential leaks around, after all. When it was time to leave, Felix thoughtfully stepped over Julio’s body and waved at his outstretched hand before slamming the hangar door in his face.

There was a click as the hangar locked itself again. On the other side of the door, Felix heard scratching.

When he walked back to the Warthog, there was a skip in his step.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back again, ladies and gentlemen! This chapter took me an age to write and I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it, but better to put it out and move than linger, right?

Ch. 10

Locus resisted the urge to leave for a full week. He searched for any distraction he could find during that time period; Joannes, however, moved faster than he did. She forbade labor of any kind, going as far as to make sure the people Locus went to wouldn’t accept his help.

_“Sam, you will shut down if you push yourself any harder than this. You’re clearly not going to give yourself time to recuperate, so I will just have to make sure you get that time whether you like or not.”_

Her firm words rattled around in his skull as he paced around the town for what felt like the umpteenth time. Restless energy pooled inside of his limbs like liquid lightning, but there was no outlet for it. Locus attempted to get involved with other parts of the town, but being around so many people – so many _strangers –_ set his teeth on edge. It turned the energy into something sharper and he backed off for their good.

 _Did you?_ asked an invasive voice. _Did you even **try**?_

He squelched the thought in a mental fist.

Faced with a lack of options, Locus found himself looking more and more outward. Chorus was still rife with pirates and bandits. It was a problem he _could_ solve in a way he couldn’t help here. Civilians built and maintained civilian lives and enterprises. He... didn’t. Couldn’t.

On the seventh night, the temptation grew too strong to resist. Locus slipped away from Wode as the streetlights began to turn on, not looking back once. Each step away from them felt better than the last.

The journey back to _A'rynasea_ was uninterrupted this time. Locus felt tension drain out of him as he left atmo and by the time he was in the stars, his guts no longer felt like they were tied into knots. The presence of other people should be a healing experience, but for him, it was like being a wind-up toy. There was only so much twisting he could take before things broke.

It couldn’t mean anything good, but Locus was too tired to parse why.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

He arrived in Chorus at noon. His landing site was in the middle of a truly atrocious thunderstorm, but Locus couldn’t muster up the necessary fucks to give. He flew through the angry black clouds, landed in a jungle that was being beaten flat by the rain, and suited up without thinking.

The rain was doubly worse outside of the ship. It was as if all of Chorus’ oceans had been picked up by the sky, transported here, and dropped. Visibility was nil. Footing was unsteady despite his armor enhancements. Locus wasn’t entirely sure if a bullet could actually fly through this kind of deluge. He was soaked the moment he stepped out of his ship and the steady beating against his armor felt good, felt right.

When he hefted up his crossbow, its weight didn’t feel sufficient. It felt light in a manner that mismatched his suit. He traded it for the shotgun and finally, _finally,_ the world slotted into place like a puzzle that had found its last piece. He was solid. He was real.

He squeezed the shotgun. Its weight was good in his hands, as heavy and reliable as death.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

There was a camp of people here. They didn’t call themselves bandits, but they were thieves. Murderers too, if the situation called for it.

They weren’t the worst people on the planet, but that was fine. Locus just had to look in the mirror to find the worst.

He tracked them down to a set of caves converted into underground bunkers. It was a pretty decent set-up, actually – these people either had the necessary equipment to set things up, or someone with the know-how for that kind of work. Locus analyzed it, using his HUD to compensate against the rain, and the pieces fell together with perfect clarity.

The cave had a single entrance. It had limited lighting and they likely hadn’t mapped it out beyond what they needed. After all, why should they? No one had bothered them in the years since the war.

He slipped through the jungle like a ghost. The rain fell too hard for anyone to notice a few disturbed leaves and he made it to the mouth of the cave before anyone noticed the intruder. He stopped there, a shade outlined by the grey downpour, and he looked into the warm lighting of the cave and the people inside.

They were alive. They were surviving on this hard, awful planet where so many others hadn’t – and how? By cheating. By killing. By reducing themselves to monsters.

Locus let out a shaky breath. His helmet opened so that he could breathe in the air of the jungle.

Maybe this was what he had to do. It was what he _could_ do.

Trying to help Wode… hiding his scars, his face, what he really was… what had been the point of it? Maybe he could have helped that man if he hadn’t been so late. If he hadn’t hesitated on the killing shot, that man might have been alive. The woman, their second hostage, had gotten away but still. _Still._

What happened to them anyway? Locus had not stayed behind to learn. Had the people of Camp 10-B killed them anyway? Could they have even survived after suffering so many wounds and falling in that mud, surrounded by enemies?

The questions tortured him. It was too much. All of it was too much. The kindness of Wode suffocated him, pressed down on him, and it was twist, after twist, after twist, and he was that toy, turning tighter and tighter –

Someone moved in his peripheral vision. Locus didn’t even think as he swung the shotgun up, took aim, and blew their torso into wet chunks.

The shot echoed through the cave, through the rain, through the cavern of his ringing skull. His mouth was dry but his hands were still for the first time in forever, and this… this was it. This was how he paid back each pound of bloody flesh he’d carved out. This was what he was, what he could only be.

Locus. Not Sam.

Just Locus.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

He killed more people in one night than he had for the last few weeks.

Their bodies remained where they fell. In a few hours, their corpses would cool. Their meat would fester. The maggots and flies would fly in from the jungle to devour them. Their names and their lives meant nothing now, because all they were was meat in the jungle.

His vision narrowed down to a single bullet point, to only the sights and sounds that controlled his survival and their deaths. _Bang, bang,_ one after the other, until they were all down, until they were all dead.

Afterwards, Locus sat in the entrance to their cave and huddled in the rain wetly. It was too hot inside his helmet but the effort required to take it off seemed too gargantuan in the moment. He took deep, shuddering breathes, feeling like he was sucking them through a wet blanket each time, his lungs working like abused bellows. He was hurt and bleeding, but the pain was dull and far away, like it belonged to a different body. Joannes would be furious if she knew he’d strained his body again but if she were here, then he would probably choke her dead in the mud.

His fingers twitched uncontrollably. His hands shook. Every noise keyed him up too hard and Locus wanted to peel his skin off and scrape everything out until he felt clean and numb again.

Dimly, he realized that he was taking this too hard. He was over-reacting – or was he? Maybe it wasn’t just that incident between the tents. Maybe it was everything building up together, hovering on the cusp of collapse, and now he was the avalanche, tumbling down the precipice.

_What now?_

He couldn’t go back to Wode. He couldn’t look at their faces again, take their kindnesses again, and pretend to be something he wasn’t. Going back to Wode would mean he would have to step back into Sam-the-human and suffer his guilt, his terror, and his yawning, unescapable black despair. Being a gun was so much easier, being the tool and the weapon, something to be picked up and put down. A gun was metal and gunpowder, a thing that could not feel bad for what it did. It merely was.

Locus didn’t cry. He was just breathing hard in an animal way, shoulders heaving.

He stood up on legs that felt like cinderblocks. He took his first stumbling step forward, mud squelching under his feet, and then his second, not feeling anything as he walked. He maintained a death grip on his shotgun and he walked away from the cave, never looking back.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙


End file.
